The New Definition Of Motel Hell
by Nitlon
Summary: Mick, Josef and Beth have to help in a case involving the Scary Vampire Government - or the SVG, if you will...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own [almost none of these characters, they belong to their respective TV shows/books.

This is a crossover fiction that I've been toying with for a few weeks now, so I just sat down and wrote the first six or so pages. I do know basically what's going to happen, this is essentially me testing the waters to see how well this might work. Of course, if I do continue, it will get much more interesting

I stare at him blankly for a second. "You're saying…" He waits for the other shoe to drop.

"You're saying we have to go outside the loop." I finish, my gut sinking.

"Yep."

XXX

The rest of our day is spent figuring out who is where and if they can help. I must say, so far I haven't come up with much. Looking through these files, almost everyone is antisocial, hates other vampires, or is completely unwilling to help anyone but themselves.

"So…" Mort says.

"So…" I reply.

"Here's what we've got so far." He's holding a stack of files which looks disappointingly slim. I brace myself, I know that I'm still going to have to deal with four or five.

"For you, m'lady," He waves the stack in my face.

"Wait, all of those are ones I have to call?"

"Yep. I've got my own pile."

"Aw, come on!"

"No, these are ones that I think you'll be able to handle better. My stack's different." He walks over to me. I'm perched on the edge of a desk, looking at our clear board with the tacked up map of North America. Next to it is one of those foam boards on wheelie legs, with several colorful pushpins stabbed into the material here and there.

"First." He picks up the first one and slides out a photo, tacking it to the foam. The face looks familiar, but then again, I have a terrible memory.

"Mick St. John." He says. I remember now; the tall guy with the dark wavy hair. He always had this chivalrous, self-hating attitude about vampirism, though I can't say I hated him.

"So, what, I just call him?"

"I guess so."

"Wow, that'll be a fun conversation. 'Hello,'" I hold my hand to my ear in a mock-phone. "'This is Joanna Lovett, from the scary vampire government? You see, someone in our system is randomly turning people and we need outside sources to help us. Call me back if you get this message!'" I laugh and Mort smirks.

"You done?"

"Not remotely. Hit me again." I hold my hands up and curl my fingers in, sort of a nonverbal 'You want some? Huh? Do ya punk?!'. He hands me the first file and takes a photo out of the second one, tacking it up on the board right next to St. John's photo. This guy I most definitely know, seeing as he inadvertently saved my life a month ago.

"Henry Fitzroy." I say. While the two of them look very different, that same chiseled, stare-holes-in-concrete look is present in both of them. I've noticed that that's a common trait in male vampires; a tendency to be extremely serious at times.

"Right, well, we do have a favor to call in with him. You and Nelson are on good terms, right?" Victoria Nelson, the PI who also kind of helped save my life, after hers was saved. We've stayed in contact since then, sort of a women-of-vampires support group.

"Yeah," I answer. "Actually, she'd probably help." He gives me a funny look.

"I'm not so sure that more than one PI is a good idea for this thing." I forgot about that; Mick is a private investigator too. I'd mock the both of them, but the fact is that Mordecai and I are really only barely a step above private investigation. Basically, it's vampire investigation (essentially 'hey, buddy, wanna stop before you suck her dry' maintenance).

"We'll see." I answer. He smiles and hands me that file as well. I can clearly see at least three more that he has, though. He takes yet another photo out of the next file and puts it next to Fitzroy's picture. Now, this one I'm sure I don't recognize. Well…wait. Not in this lifetime. I look at Mort questioningly.

"Josef Konstantin." He tells me. Ah, wait, never mind. Never heard of him.

"No clue. Fill me in."

"Rich stock…guy. Hedge funds and trading, you know?"

"No."

"Well, turns out he's pretty good friends with Mick St. John, so that's how we found him. Not the most selfless of creatures, but I'm willing to bet he'd listen if you put the right…spin on it." He finishes carefully. Little do you know, Captain Subtext, that I can hear you loud and clear.

"You mean he eats from live women and you want me to make sure the little head does the thinking for the big head in order to convince him."

"You always were blunt."

"I'm not liking this trend." I waggle my eyebrows at him meaningfully. All three so far have been males of a similar age.

"Well, I mean…It's just that, and I'm not sexist or anything, but, there's just a certain…" I laugh, it's fun to see a thousand year old vampire flustered.

"It's okay, I get it."

"You do?"

"Yeah." He breathes a sigh of relief.

"Good, because that would have been a really awkward conversation."

"I can think of worse ones we've had." I wink at him. I'm thinking back, as I'm sure he is, to the 'so…uh, four hundred years ago, when, I, uh, killed myself for you after knowing you for a day, uh, what happened then?' conversation, a week or so after he came back. He shakes his head and chuckles.

"Fair enough, Johnny."

"So, come one, what else you got? Make me cringe with your choices."

"O-kay…hang on a second…" He awkwardly maneuvers the next to last file into his other hand and hands it to me after taking out the picture. This one looks far too young to even be considered, if he were human.

"Come on. He's, what, seventeen? Sixteen?" I protest. Mort shakes his head.

"Also over a hundred years old."

"That's not that much."

"It's enough."

"What's his name?" I hold up my hand.

"No, wait, don't tell me, Edward Cullen." He chuckles.

"Haha. Very funny. But, he's pretty much the real life equivalent."

"What, he's got a true love?"

"Yep."

"MORT!"

"Sorry! Look, there aren't many people I could find. If it makes you feel any better, my list isn't much better."

"So, what is his name?"

"Bryon Doom."

"That's unfortunate."

"Tell me about it." He smiles and hands me the last file.

"What, you aren't going to take the photo out for this one?" He grins and holds up the photo, pinched between his fore and middle fingers, waving it back and forth tauntingly. He tacks it up on the board as well.

"No."

"Johnny, I know you don't want to, but really, he's good."

"No. I won't do it." I stare resolutely at the face of Roger Shepp. Nik's friend, he was there the night we met. I don't want to know what will happen if we meet again after what happened. Despite myself, I can feel my eyeballs grow hot. Mordecai shakes his head, but he knows not to push it. He takes down the photo.

"Fair enough." He crumples it up and tosses it in the waste basket. He hoists himself up onto the desk, right next to me, staring intensely. I don't really feel like working anymore.

"You going to be okay, Miz?"

"Hm? Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine, just give me a little." I hop off the desk, with four of the five files in hand, and head toward the door, grabbing my coat on the way out.

"I'll call you tomorrow, 'kay?" I call.

"Bye, Johnny."

XXX

After getting back to my house, I put on my big grey sweatshirt and plop down to read the files I've been given. I realize that this is a real situation, and that I'm doing this for a reason, I do, but I can't help but feel excited. I've always loved encounters with strangers. Call me a bizzaro.

First, Mick St. John. I know little about him, save for he's pretty young for a vampire. Not that unipartas every really survive for too long anyway, but eighty-five is pretty much a sneeze. We're not exactly on the best of terms, seeing as he doesn't really believe that I'm just a girl with a passing interest in vampires, but I've no doubt he'll jump at the chance to do good. After all, finding the irresponsible guy who keeps producing feral vampires is pretty important, wouldn't you say?

Looking through the file, I don't learn much I didn't already know. He's no longer in reliable contact with his sire, his human interest is Beth Turner (yeah. There's actually a place for that in our files.), he only ever uses pre-packaged blood. And, in case you were wondering, his threat risk is low. Meaning that we don't really need to keep tabs on him. What's not really written in the files (here's where I wish we had a comments section) is that he's got this bourgeoisie, 'holier-than-thou', I don't eat women sort of attitude. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that, but he literally told Mort 'I don't hunt women or children', and while I don't think he intended it, that sounds vaguely sexist. So, what, if the woman committed a crime you still shouldn't make her pay? Get real, fella. Then again, he was born in the twenties. Who can blame him?

After that, Henry Fitzroy. Also no longer in reliable contact with his sire, human interest is Victoria Nelson, feeds off of consenting adults (without their knowledge). Almost five hundred years old. Threat level low to medium. Sometimes I wonder if, provided all of the 'human interests', as they love to be called, were gathered together, rank would depend on the age of her/his vampire. I can't helpbut giggle at the thought. What a bizarre way of pulling rank that would be. I've met Fitzroy, and though I easily confess that I thought very little of him at first (the words man whre come to mind), it must be said that his intentions are pure. Plus, you know, the fact that he was one of three people who saved my life kind of prevents me from trashing him anymore. But enough of that. Next: Josef Konstantin. This looks interesting. He looks like he must have been turned in his early twenties, certainly no more than twenty five. He's over four hundred years old, and while I've certainly met older, that's nothing to sneeze at. Apparently not much is known about his past life other than his age. He is also no longer in contact with his sire (are any of them?), and…this is mildly intriguing. No human interest. Perhaps this is one of those that Mort describes having given in to the emotionless side. Or, he's a Casanova of the vampire world. Wouldn't be the first. Under feeding habits, it says…'willing freshies'? What does that mean?

Well, I mean, I can guess what it means, but where did that come from? The term freshies…must be an LA thing. Still, 'no human interest' intrigues me. Usually it's inevitable. Did he lose someone? Does he have someone, but is being discreet about it? I look forward to finding out. Oh, and look at this. Threat level: medium-high. I wonder why. I'm guessing it has something to do with 'freshies' – lets them know what he is. I'm sure he takes the necessary precautions with them, however, so it must also have something to do with his high status in society. I move on to the last file.

Hello, Mr. Doom. He was turned when he was seventeen, surprisingly the same age as Fitzroy, though he doesn't look it. He's handsome enough in his own right, certainly, but you can see that he's young. Lessee…still in contact with his sire. Interesting. Apparently it's…never mind, 'identity of sire unknown'. Human interest: Isadora Cygnet. Are you kidding me? Her last name literally means 'baby swan'. The universe has a fantastic sense of humor. A fantastic, cruel, ironic sense of humor.

XXX

I wait uncomfortably as the phone rings. If I've figured the time difference correctly, it must be about 7 pm in California right now. Hopefully he hasn't left his office yet.

"Mick St. John, Private Investigator."

"Oh! Oh, hello, uh, Mr. St. John."

"…Ms. Lovett?"

"Yes." There's an awkward silence.

"Can I help you with something?"

"Uh, sort of."

"…would you care to elaborate?"

"You know my partner, Mordecai Bloodworth?" [Okay, he so did not pick that last name at random.

"Yes. We've met."

"I have no doubt that you know who we work for at this point."

"I have a general idea."

"Well, there's a…" I make a mildly distressed noise. "Leak isn't the right word. Someone in our employer's…employment is making vampires and not bothering to teach them. Just letting them go."

"What? I'll be glad to help, any way that I can. Do you know why?"

"Well, once they reach a certain age, vampires tend to grow…weary of the normal ways of amusing themselves. Some of them turn to outright killing, but an unfortunate few decide that it would be more fun to watch a bunch of newbies run around killing each other and anything else that gets in the way." I wince. That's how Nik got turned, why he's not here anymore. And, though he's never outright told me, I suspect that's what happened to Mort as well. Why he's never 'snapped' like so many others.

"That sick bastard!" Just wait till it happens to you, boy-o.

"Yes, well, other than that. We'd like to ask if we could rely on you for help? Not everything is figured out yet, but we do have some information on our vampire's whereabouts. Obviously we can't just use our normal…er, team. So, when we do have a plan of action, we'll need some outside sources to assemble."

"You can count on me. Anything you need, we have to stop this sicko." 'Sicko'? Whatever. From what I know, he's not a half bad fighter, and it can only help to have him on our side. So, one down, three to go. I hang up the phone. Next!

Bryon Doom. Oh, man. I really hope he doesn't live with parental figures.

I let the phone ring a few times…_ring…ring…ring…_

"Bryon speaking."

"Hello, Mr. Doom?"

"Yes?"

"((You have the coolest name EVER!!!)) This is Joanna Lovett. May I speak to you for a moment?"

"I'm very happy with my long distance service." I laugh a little.

"No, that's not it at all."

"Then who are you?"

"Let me start off my saying that I know you're a vampire." I snort as Mort's words about my bluntness come to mind. There's silence on the other end.

"It's okay, it's fine, I've met over fifty and know of almost every one in the major cities of North America."

"Why have you called me?" His voice is low, and I can't help but wonder if he's gone all predatory.

"Well, suffice to say that I work for a form of…uh, vampire…government, or police, depending on who you ask, and-"

"I haven't done anything wrong."

"No, no, of course not, the exact opposite in fact."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, lately, we've been having some trouble on the inside." I'm impressing myself with my professional, business-like tone. "We need to create a team on the outside, and were wondering if you'd like to help us?"

"What constitutes me helping you?"

"Well, when we do figure out the exact problem area, the lot of us will go there for…no more than a few weeks, I imagine, and…deal with the problem as fits."

"Why me?"

"There is a surprisingly low number of vampires who actually seem willing to help anyone."

"Forgive my boldness, but are you a vampire?"

"No. Well, sort of. No."

"Fair enough. When you figure this out further, call me again. Goodbye, Ms. Lovett."

"Johnny."

"I'm sorry?"

"Everyone calls me Johnny."

"Goodbye, Johnny." He hangs up. Well, you certainly don't live up to your awesome name. What a dreadfully boring boy. Then again, that was a phone conversation. I suppose we'll have to see.

I think I'll only do one more tonight. Save what will likely be the easiest and the least awkward for least, huh? So, I'll just call Mr. Konstantin and have done with it.

It only rings once before I hear a distinctly feminine voice answer the phone.

"Mr. Konstantin's office." Come on, Pollox's guys! You couldn't even get a personal number?

"Yes, I would like to speak to Mr. Konstantin, please."

"I'm sorry, he's not in at the moment." Yes he is, you idiot. I know very well that he is. I didn't know before that, but wow. You are a terrible liar.

"I don't care whether or not he's in. I'd like to speak with him." She is flustered into silence for a few moments.

"…you…you…you can leave a message, if you'd like. I'll be sure to have him call you back right away." Oh, yeah, that'll work out great. 'Write this down for me: I need you to tell him to call back and tell me whether or not he'd be interested in being on my Supreme Team of vampires to fight evil and protect the great secret.'

"Please tell him that it's regarding a very personal matter and that he needs to come to the phone immediately." She pauses, trying to come up with another plausible lie.

"Excuse me. I seem to be out of paper. Give me just a minute." I hear her put the phone down and shuffle out of her seat, walking away into the distance. However, being bitten so many times means that inevitably a few vampirism traits have rubbed off on me. I can distinctly hear in the background her speaking to Mr. Konstantin, telling him that "there's a rather rude woman on the phone who insists that you're in and won't tell me why she wants to speak with you." I hear her footsteps grow louder as she returns to her desk.

"You're in luck! He just returned from a dinner." At 7:20? A likely story, dear.

"Goodness me, I certainly _am_ lucky." I reply darkly. I hear a few deft clacks as the phone lines change.

"This is Mr. Konstantin. Are you the rather rude woman?"

"I am in fact the rather rude woman. Would you be the prudish businessman?"

"I would indeed. How can I help you?"

"Would you be interested in helping to…take care of a problem?"

"What kind of problem?" I take a deep breath, ready to let it out in a whoosh.

"There's a vampire, likely an old one, that's been turning people and setting them loose with no training." I love how I sound like I'm talking about cows or puppies.

"…who are you?"

"What? Joanna Lovett."

"Are you with Pollox?"

"Well, not him specifically, but yes." How would he – I don't care. Honestly, I don't.

"I see. Why are you not asking me for help?"

"We don't know exactly who, but our…" I resist the urge to say 'perp'. "Vampire is one in the company. We aren't willing to risk him finding out that we're onto him."

"That sounds about right. Yes, I would be interested in helping, assuming that's what you're asking."

"Well, we aren't asking for money, but your time and presence once we have everything figured out."

"I understand that. Please call me when you have further details."

"Goodbye, Mr. Konstantin."

"Josef." I hang up. Huh. Well, more interesting than Bryon Doom, lemme tell ya.

A/N: This is basically just the prologue, but I think you get the general idea of what I'm doing here. I'd appreciate anyone's thoughts (and in case you're wondering about all the background and stuff references, the back story of the characters is my first story. Right, because clearly everyone is so interested.) You made it all the way to the bottom! Good for you! Reviews feed my plot bunnies.


	2. I'm SO totally over the vampire thing

Disclaimer: I don't own Moon Ties or Bloodlight. Wait.

"So, did you do it last night?" Of course, typical Mort, that's the first thing he asks me.

"My day was fine, sweetie, and you?" I reply.

"Ah. You didn't do it."

"I did! I did three of the four! All yeses, thank you for your vote of confidence." I glare daggers into his back. He turns around and I see that he's wearing, what else, a t shirt from a Save The Whales Conference – '82.

"Oh, no." I tell him.

"What?"

"You are not wearing that in public."

"Since when are you and Bolt considered 'public'?" He asks, indicating the dog who has somehow managed to fit behind the couch. Admittedly, he's lying down, but his ears and tail are still very much visible.

"Well, just to clarify."

"But I've had it for over a quarter century! It's older than you are!" I stare at him. _You wanna rethink that, bud?_

"What?"

"I'm twenty eight."

"You are?"

"Yes."

"But…you…don't look twenty eight." I'm not sure whether to be flattered or offended. I point to the scars on my shoulder.

"Gee, I wonder why." Instead of suffering through the usual puppy faced 'I'm sorry that someone did this to you and if I knew how I'd make it aaaaall better' look, he reaches up and brushes my almost healed head injury.

"Are you sure you're feeling okay? Its barely been a month since…" Since my psycho vampire ex tried to kill me? Yeah, it's okay, you can say it.

"I'm fine. Did you call?" He looks away, embarrassed. Oh no you didn't.

"You didn't have anyone to call, did you?"

He doesn't say anything.

"So, basically, I did all the work."

"I found them!"

"Hm."

XXX

"OH! Oh! I SO did some of the work! Look at this! LOOK!" He shouts from the office. Again, in case you didn't know, we're in an abandoned high school, so his office is literally the principal's office. He's leaning up against the corner of the desk that usually serves as our chair, making rather excited looking circles around…

"Vancouver?"

"Yep. Look, see this pattern?" There are green markers (meaning things that mark a place, not writing implements) in every place where we've found a new vampire, one that clearly was abandoned.

"If we draw lines," he draws lines from Vancouver to all of the locations.

"Judging from the dates, look, see the dates? Right, so, the later it is, the farther they get. These ones, the first few, were found only days after they were turned, each one is probably no more than maybe a 20, 30 minute drive from Vancouver." It seems like a shot in the dark, but as I look closer, this seems to make more and more sense.

"Vancouver." I repeat. He smiles at me like this is the most amazing thing in the world.

"Do we even have a guy in Vancouver?" I ask him.

"Yes. I don't remember who, but I'll check it out."

"Don't bother." He looks at me for a brief moment, bemused.

"Any vampire Pollox would hire wouldn't be stupid enough to do this in his own territory." He finishes for me. I watch as he makes the subtle changes in his body, the stance, the expression, that tell me he's planning something, brown eyes glittering dangerously. Subconsciously, I shiver a bit.

"Cold?" His voice is low and predatory.

"Hardly." I manage to stutter.

"I guess we have some guys to call." He smiles one of those 'I'm ready to kill, but you're on my side' smiles.

"And tell them what?"

"Well, obviously we can't rent out an entire Four Seasons."

"I know. How'll we make quick contact? We need to be near each other."

"So we rent out an entire cheap-ass motel." I stare at him, unblinking, unbelieving.

"You…you…you…you aren't serious?"

"I am serious." He is. I can see it in the way that he's not really reveling in my reaction. He wants me, him, four other vampires and their resident humans to set up house together? For god knows how long! Days? WEEKS?

"So, I'll work on reservations, you just tell them –"

"What do we do about Bolt?"

"We'll make sure it takes pets."

"I'm not sure that four hundred pound hellhound can be filed under 'pet', dear." He gives me a small, playful smile and moves closer.

"I can be very persuasive."

"Yes. Yes you can." I assure him. "On tiny little hundred pound over-make-upped bimbos." He laughs.

"Yeah, right, based on what you know of me I'm clearly a ladies' man." I kick him, but somehow miss. Stupid vampires. Speaking of which.

"I forgot to call one of them. Fitzroy," I mention.

"Well, do it today."

"Fair enough."

XXX

Has anyone ever heard of the Red Star Motel? I've never heard of the Red Star Motel. What the bloody hell is the Red Star Motel? Evidently, it's the location of the Great Vampire Reunion '08. This is going to be _so_ much fun.

After calling the four of them again, Mort and I got down to the ever-so-fun business of, essentially, renting a motel for four weeks. Obviously having so many in such close proximity will result in some…outbursts, meaning we don't really want anyone 'outside the loop' to be near. It took quite a bit of persuasion, but now even Josef and Henry have agreed to only drink pre-processed blood. I'm not dealing with their little one night stands for a month.

Of course, Bryon Doom (who has yet to live up to his still-awesome name) wanted to bring lovely Isadora along, and wouldn't agree to come without her, so I had to let him. So then I thought, 'what the hell', and let every body else bring their little friends. So now the guest list is Bryon Doom, Isadora Cygnet, Henry Fitzroy, Victoria Nelson, Mick St. John, Beth Turner, Josef Konstantin, Mort and I. And Bolt, but he's staying with the humans anyway. Nine people and a very large dog. Oh, what a beautiful day.

"So, when do they start showing up?" I ask Mordecai anxiously, shifting my weight from foot to foot. Despite our best tries, the receptionist won't leave until tomorrow morning, meaning that for one night she might have to be…look, I really don't want to say bound and gagged. I really don't.

"Well, you talked to them." I did, I talked long and hard and, to be honest, a bit much. Konstantin had felt the lovely and pressing need to 'get to know the people he was going to be working with'. Freaking businessmen. Just then, my phone rings, Caller ID unknown.

"Hello?"

"Yes, Ms. Lovett?"

"Yes."

"It's Bryon Doom." I resist the urge to tell him 'that's nice'.

"Is there a problem, Bryon?"

"Yes. A…personal issue has just arose. I'm afraid I won't be able to come to Vancouver after all." …I'll be honest with you, I don't actually care that much.

"I'm sorry to hear that Bryon, I hope that you resolve whatever issues you're having."_Click_. Good day to you, sir! …I said good day!

"He's not –" I start.

"I heard." Mort winks at me. Of course he heard. Stupid vispus. Them and their effing melanin.

"Right, well, after them the most likely people to show up next would be Mick and Beth, as they don't have an aversion to airplanes and have no loose ends to tie up." Right on cue, the both of them enter. Mick holds the door open for Beth and she smiles at him slyly as she passes through. He lets the door go and watches her for a few seconds, clearly infatuated, before following.

I must say, why are they all blonde? Vicki's blonde, evidently Beth's blonde, even I_was_ blonde. Hey, it was four hundred years ago. I didn't dye it! Admittedly, technically I'm still a little bit blonde, along with the red and the black, but mostly just black. See, you still don't believe that I don't dye it. Frankly, I'm not a hair person.

"Beth Turner." She extends her hand and I take it, pumping it up and down a good two or three times.

"Joanna Lovett. I take it you're here with Mr. St. John?" Like I don't already know.

"Yes, we're working together on something." Translation: I don't want to admit that I like him, so I found some work-related thing up here when he asked. I don't press it.

"This is…this is Mordecai." He smiles shyly and shakes her hand as well. He's never been particularly comfortable around other people. And no wonder; he's suffered through almost every single wave of hatred forced upon India. He'd only survived so long by keeping his mouth shut and his ears open, and old habits are hard to break. He's like a shelter dog, severe paranoia of being abandoned. Doesn't really like new people, not really (more likely to just be openly nice).

"Pleased to meet you." He mutters. He'll get used to them soon enough.

"Mr. St. John." I smile at the approaching vampire. It's funny, Mort used to tell me he was roughly Mick's age. But the two are nothing alike! I don't know how I ever thought that. Oh well.

"Hello again." He gives me a brief little smile before turning to my partner.

"Have we met?" I can see the look in Mort's eyes: _Uh, I sure hope not._

"I don't believe so. I'm Mordecai." He offers up his hand, which Mick takes in a warm handshake.

"So, uh…" Well, this is awkward. When people talk about dream teams, I don't think they take into account the actual meeting of these people.

"I guess you two will want to check in?" Mort offers. Beth smiles gratefully and the two of them head off toward the check-in…place. I don't know what it's called. Front check-in. That sounds right. Just then, Vicki comes in the front door. That's a bit confusing as the sun only set about half an hour ago. I guess they had pretty heavy duty windows.

"Hey, Johnny." I hear Vicki call my name. "Hey," I reply.

"Sorry I took so long, but, you know, I figured I'd try and find Henry first."

"Find? I talked to him two days ago. I thought you two were coming together." She looks up at me, surprised, and now's when I see that her eyes are red from crying. Well, I'm not comfortable with emotions, but clearly this woman needs help. I look at Mort.

"Can you…?" He nods at me. I pull Vicki to the room I've haphazardly dumped my bag in (bag. Singular. It's friggin' huge.). She frowns at me, clearly unwilling to admit that anything is wrong, and I can't blame her.

"Vicki? Is something…I mean, you okay?" She grins at me.

"What, aside from the demon tattoos?" She's showed me these once before, but from what I can tell they've changed. Not visibly, just...they seem…darker. More permanent.

"Did something happen?" She smirks, but her eyes are shining.

"Jeez. First Coreen, now I get this from you?"

"Sometimes it helps to vent to an outside source." I say quietly. I know from experience. We sat down on the bed as she relayed her heartbreaking tale of woe, suffice to say it ended with Henry moving to Vancouver. Looking at her, I can't help but wonder if this is how I was, so broken. Too much drama all at once can suck the will out of you.

Well, to summarize, that boy's getting a talkin' to. You don't do that to someone.

Still, she's looking a bit better. That's when it hits me: I think I may have invited Henry and Vicki separately. I assumed that they'd come together. WHOOPS. Well, I'll let them deal with their stuff later. I still have one self-absorbed uniparta vampire to deal with.

"You gonna be okay if I leave?"

"Shit yes." I snort and head back out into the cold, cold world.

Mort's talking to someone, evidently who has come extremely overdressed in slacks, a shirt and a vest. Still, they seem to be enjoying each other's company somewhat. Mort sees me and waves me over to meet…Josef Konstantin. Well, duh. Who else could it have been? My already dampened mood sinks one notch lower as Nik comes to mind again. I haven't exactly dealt with that skeleton in my closet yet. I will. I just haven't gotten around to it yet. Shut up.

"Ms. Lovett?"

"Yes." He smiles at me, and when I offer my hand for a firm shake he brings it to his mouth and plants a kiss there.

"Pleased to meet you." He says lowly.

"You as well." I reply. I confess, even if it does make me a bad person, that I love it when the older ones think they can get my heart rate to double just by being all…what would you call this? Charm? Hardly. I look over at Mort, who's not nearly as amused.

"I take it you've met Mort…ecai?" I finish awkwardly.

"I have indeed. Though I must say that, based on our few phone conversations, I didn't expect you to be so lovely." I try not to snort out loud. I'm wearing almost all black: my t shirt is a black base color with a colorful design of dancing moose on it (don't ask. I'm begging you.), and black jeans with a metal band just above Hillbilly Rope on the belt scale. In short, I grabbed the first two things I could find because I was going to be spending most of my day on a plane anyway. Not my fault that the shirt's kind of tight. Or, you know, that it's riddled with holes and may or may not be from my junior year of high school. Dancing moose! How do you throw away dancing moose? Yeah, you laugh, but you've never tried to. They just stare at you with their little moose eyes.

"…Joanna?" Oops. Guess I trailed off.

"Mm?"

"I take it that there will be no other customers of the motel while we stay here?"

"Nope." He smiles at me fiendishly.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to make the best _possible_ use of our time here." God, why do you hate me? Why do you make all the vampires want to eat me? I didn't do anything bad. I take a deep breath.

"Mr. Konstantin,"

"Josef, please."

"Josef. Let me be clear." I step back so as to make some distance between us. I point at him rather rudely.

"You. Vampires. All that 'sexy' bloodlust bullshit." He quirks an eyebrow.

"Well, not exactly the words I would have chosen." I poke him in the chest.

"Been there," poke.

"Done that," poke.

"Don't care to again." Poke, poke, poke. There's a certain look on his face, though I'm not sure if he's simply amused or relenting. I try extremely hard not to let Mort's comment on my bluntness enter my mind field. Suddenly Josef's face breaks into a smile, a real one, not seductive.

"_Nice_." He grins at me, entirely genuine. He holds up his fist and, evidently, waits for me to do something (I don't know what.) I give him a questioning look.

"Pound it." He explains. I do. I smile back at him.

"This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

XXX

I'm meeting with Mick and Beth to explain just what the hell it is that we're going to be doing for the next month. Mort's there too, but he's just leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed looking good.

"Have either of you had experience with either newbies or vampires on the older side?" I ask. I refuse to call them fledglings. They're in the faerie phylum. They're not bloody birds.

The two of them look at each other, each giving the other a little secretive smile. I won't let on that I know exactly what the two of them have been doing for the last few months (hey, you start habitually killing the bad guys, you get noticed by the big guys).

"Yes," Mick answers finally. "Some."

"Then you understand what we're up against. Most of the older ones are already on our radar, but we're hoping to at least find some newly turned ones that could lead us to whoever's the ringleader of this whole thing." And I'll use _small_ words so that even while the two of you make googoo eyes at each other you'll understand!

Beth coughs and looks back at me. "Sounds good." Mick smiles at me like a knowing parent, _believe me, I know._

"Right. So, the vampires," I'll be honest, I still giggle a little bit inwardly whenever I talk about it like this. So casual. "They'll be able to scent any new ones around and…deal with them." Cough.

"I'll explain further when we have more information." Or, when we figure out just how we're going to do this. But they don't need to know that. Mick just nods at me and leaves, though for some reason Beth sticks behind.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." I get that sinking feeling whenever something unexpected comes up. Thanks to my childhood, I always assume that I've done something wrong. My first instinct is to clean up.

"We…uh, the, um…humans, that is."

"Yes?" I chance a sideways glance back at Mort, who is still looking on with a stone cold, indifferent expression, always watchful.

"We're going to be in a separate…like, a separate wing from the vampires, right? Similar to being divided boys/girls."

"If it's not a problem."

"No no no! I just wanted to be sure. Do we have assigned…rooms?"

"No. Not the people. But Mick and Josef are right next to each other, you know, freezer issue." I'm glad Mort thought of that, because I never would have remembered that they sleep that way. It's utterly bizarre.

She grins at me. "Yeah. Yeah, I know." We laugh, though I can tell Mort is less than amused. She gives me a little wave and leaves in the same direction as Mick, hand on her purse almost habitually.

I go and stand in front of Mort, leaning into him just slightly. He's quite tall, after all.

"So, what do we think?" I know he's smiling mischievously after asking. I turn around so that we're face to face, my arms crossed, a similar grin plastered to my face.

"They're so cute I'm gonna start shitting rainbows."

A/N: Okay, now that that's out of the way, hopefully next chapter we'll get to the fun stuff. Keep in mind this is supposed to be less about the story, and more about the awkward situations this will put them in :D. Reviews feed my plot bunnies!

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(0.o)

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Pound it.


	3. It's the MUSHY CHAPTER!

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, et cetera. Please, I'm begging the lot of you, if you haven't read at least maybe one or two of the chapters of my first story, do. I'm not vying for more attention, but this short little passage is waaay more rewarding if you understand Mort and Johnny a little better (if you just want a little bit, skip chapter 1). I don't want you to desensitize yourselves too much ;). And, just a thought, because it's what I was listening to when I wrote this: if you happen to know the song 'Last Song' or 'Holy' by EagleSeagull, I think that would make a nice soundtrack. But, I might be the only person who likes my music to go along with what I'm reading (really. Reading fanfiction, I'll change my playlist to go along with the mood of the writing. Bizarre. I know.)

"Vicki?" I crack the door open slightly, all the lights are off. Okay. Disturbing.

"Yeah?" I hear the reply from the room connected to this one by a door. I follow the sound and see that she's watching some gods awful Lifetime movie. She's looking significantly better.

"So, this the room you're going to sleep in?"

"Yep." Awkward silence. She stares at the screen, though I can tell that she's trying extremely hard not to look at me. Her jaw is set, her eyes focused, her hands clasped neatly as she sits, perched, on the edge of the bed. She is, quite purposefully, watching TV at me. I pick up the remote and click it off.

"I was watching that." She says it without conviction. I glare at her.

"He rescues her, they have a barely legal sex scene followed by awkward pillow talk then zoom into a flash-forward of the two of them married with a hundred million kids and sustainable sources of income." She looks at me.

"That…that is impressive."

"And I don't even know what you were watching." I plop down beside her. Wow, I suck at girl talks. "Like it or not, you two are going to end up talking. He's coming." She whips her head around and stares at me.

"What did you…?!"

"Relax. He was coming anyway. I just assumed you two would be coming together." Come to think of it, how on Darwin's blue earth did I not notice that neither of them mentioned the other?

"How the hell do I deal with this?" She mutters. I don't answer, as I'm not sure if she actually wants input or if she's venting.

"Johnny?" Right. Input it is.

………

I got nothing.

"I…well, what exactly do you want out of it?" She stares at me, confused.

"I…I dunno."

"Seems to me you should just say you miss him."

"But…"

"But you've got other stuff to say."

"Yes. Exactly." She frowns. I'm reluctant to do it, to share my age-old secret, but clearly she needs help here.

"You know what I always do?" She shakes her head. I go and fetch my laptop, and after an awkward few minutes of unwinding the wire, and plugging it into the computer, and finding an outlet, and plugging it into the outlet, and opening the computer, and waiting for it to turn on, and waiting for it to load, and waiting for a blank word document to open up…

'Kay, somewhere in there I lost my momentum.

"Joanna?" People need to stop doing that.

"Sorry. Right." I carefully transfer the laptop from my lap to hers, though she continues to stare at me.

"When I'm confused about a person, I write a letter to him or her. Brutally honest, pleading my side of the argument or whatever, everything I'm feeling, then I try to assuage his feelings by pointing out all the reasons I became attached to that person in the first place. Then, that makes me realize how I really will miss said person. Most of the time I don't end up sending the letter." Yeah. Pfft. 'Age old secret.' Riiight. I open up one, addressed to my mother, most of which is in caps lock and bright red. Pretty miffed.

"And you…" She deadpans.

"Never sent it." I wanted to, gods know that I wanted to. But I've learned to control my impulses, to anticipate what future me will want, and not make rash decisions. Ever. Incidentally, I've never actually gotten drunk as a result of that, considering I made this realization at the ripe old age of fifteen. Cheerful, much?

"Does that really work? Seems like something a therapist would ask for." I smile at her.

"Well you know me. Bright ideas just pop into me head and I keep thinking…" I've taken on a mild British accent. Say hello to Mrs. Lovett (actually, that's rather confusing and makes me sounds schizophrenic. I'm just doing the amorous assistant from Sweeney Todd. Just for the sake of lucidity.)

She looks rather puzzled, and that's when I start the song.

"Seems a downright shame…" I sing. She lifts her eyebrow.

"…shame?" Ah, perfect.

"Seems an awful waste…

Such a nice plump frame

What's-his-name has….had…" I tilt my head thoughtfully.

"Has." I finish. She's starting to get a bit creeped out, and no wonder: the voice I'm using sounds nothing like my real one.

"Nor it can't be traced.

Business needs a lift!

That's to be erased.

Think of it as thrift – as a gift – if you get my drift." Still getting the look.

"No? Seems an awful waste…I mean,

With the price of meat what it is,

When you get it….

If you get it." Nope, nothing. Clearly she's got no clue what I'm doing.

"I have no clue what you're doing." See? I laugh and plop down on the bed, my limbs spread out, making a comforter angel.

"Good you got it. Take for instance Mrs. Mooney and her piiiie shop!

Business never better using only pussy cats and toast!

Now a pussy's good for maybe six or seven at the most!

And I know they can't compare us for it's taste –" This is the part where Sweeney Todd (Mr. T, as she calls him) starts his part, so I stop. Despite herself, I can see Vicki giggling a little, her hand over her mouth.

"That…what're you…I…" She is consumed in another little giggle fit.

"What, you never saw Sweeney Todd?" I hold my hand to my chest in mock insultation. Yeah…that's not actually a word. Whatever. My mind.

I shake my head at her and sit up on the bed, flipping the television back on.

"Come on, let's be idiot girly girls together." I cross my legs pretzel-style (criss-cross-apple-sauce, if you want the formal term) and lean forward, trying to seem engaged. She smiles at me weakly and shifts her position so she's lying on her stomach next to me.

XXX

I'm lying in my bed, one of them, anyway. The room I've claimed has two. It's not really that bad of a motel, really. The beds are comfortable and bloody gigantic, to be frank, I'm a bit afraid of being swallowed by it. Anyway, I took the room that's linked to Vicki's by way of Door, which is open a crack if she wants…well, I don't know, I just didn't feel like closing it. Beth's actually right next to me on the other side, she came and watched the last half hour of the movie with us. Turns out she's a reasonably smart woman, funny too.

I'm not actually in the covers, I'm lying on top of them with a towel for a blanket. For me, the only heavy, warm thing I'm willing to let press down on my body is Bolt. He's a very good pillow, foot warmer, blanket, etc. Probably bed if I tried it. I can't see anything in the absolute darkness, save for the few objects on the nightstand that the alarm clock illuminates. It baths my watch, my wallet, and my keys in an eerie red glow, made more surreal by the fact that everything around it is consumed with darkness. Like these are the only solid objects in the room.

I'm not scared, far from it. I love the dark, and I don't mean that in a Gothic, morbid way. I mean that I can't sleep if I'm still aware of my surroundings, because how on earth am I supposed to drift off to my surreal little world that way? No, I need to feel enveloped by it. I love to be wrapped by the dark, to pull a blanket over my head and pretend I never need to come out. There's always been a solid line between night and day for me, in the sense that a night is infinity – take as long as you need to fall asleep, because for all you know ten years will pass by in the blink of an eye, for everyone, and none of you will know the difference when you wake up. I love that feeling.

"Hey." I hear a quiet, shy voice. I turn over on my side, though I can't see him.

"Hey," I reply sleepily. I feel him lie down behind me, on his side, and put his arm around me. I adjust myself further into his grasp comfortably, then turn around so that we're face to face. Well, face to neck. I slide my arms around his chest so that they meet up behind his back, grabbing onto one wrist with the other hand. I lie my head on his collarbone and we lay there for a while, neither one saying anything. He does this sometimes, and I'm used to it.

There's nothing overtly sexual about it. I said how he's like a 'used' dog once, and he is. In more ways than one. I think, on some level, sometimes he just needs to remind himself that I'm really here. That he does have someone. He puts his hands on my back and pulls me closer, into more of a bear hug, and kisses the top of my head gently. I smile against his neck and pull back a little so I can look at him in the eyes. He mentioned to me, a very long time ago, that vampires have trouble with feeling complex emotions like guilt or loss. Any emotion that is shown would be four times more intense in a human. Which is why I'm so shocked to see that his eyes are shinier than usual. Not to the point of actually crying, just thinking about it.

This is what happens to a dreamer who's been broken a thousand times, a thousand different ways.

"Sorry I woke you up," he whispers, smiling softly. I don't say anything back, I don't have to. I reach up and touch his face with the back of my hand and he leans into it a bit, closing his eyes. It's much better than anything we could have said with words.

A friend of mine once remarked that it's very hard to see where the lines are with Mort and mine's relationship, that we were clearly more than business partners and more than friends. The simple fact is, I don't know where the lines are. Or if there are any. I draw my hand back and go back to my little hand-clasp behind his back, burying my face in him. I don't know what he's looking at past me, maybe he's just thinking. He puts both his arms around my shoulders, and though I know he lacks body heat, I swear his arms are as warm as they would be if he were human. I feel him move his head a little from where I've buried my face in his neck so that his face rests on top of mine, then he seems to change his mind and goes back to having my head level with his neck, pressing his face into the top of my head like another prolonged kiss.

I don't know how long we lie like that, me holding onto him and him holding onto me, like if we let go of each other we'll both be lost forever. I could have stayed there forever.

A/N: Okay, now I'm really nervous. I'm no good at the mushy stuff. I'd love anybody's thoughts on how I could improve it, or what parts do work and what parts are complete, hopeless clichés that make you go "_ugh_, not one of these again." No, really, I'm actually shaking. I'm just posting this because I'm afraid I won't have the guts to tomorrow. Reviews feed my nervous, sweaty and shaky plot bunnies! Calm them nerves!


	4. The Perils Of Singing In The Shower

When I wake up he's already left. It's fine with me, more than fine, in reality, simply because I hate the awkwardness of waking up next to someone. Mort told me once that after he was turned, one of the things he missed the most about being human was, as he delicately called it, "fuzzy-head syndrome". You wake up not fully aware of your surroundings and slowly lull yourself into consciousness. Vampire are either dead or…up.

Yeah, you say you miss fuzzy head syndrome, bud, try it once in a while. Every muscle in my body aches, though I manage to blindly stumble my way to my bag. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and stare at my possible selections for shirts, pants, shoes, etc.

You know what? Screw it. Today is Big Sweatshirt Day. I grab the huge, baggy, grey sweatshirt from near the bottom of the bag (well…extract is really a better word), a pair of jeans, and head for the shower.

I close my eyes and turn the heat on full blast, letting searing drops beat my aching back. Now, you may not want to admit it, but everyone sings in the shower. I may have confidence issues, but not when it comes to my voice. I just opt for the Sarah Noni Metzner song again, because I love it and, well, it's just plain fun.

"He was my favorite cliché!" I belch, sounding (I don't mean to seem smug, but it's true) almost exactly like Metzner does on the recording.

"In that old French café.

In the fading of day." I continue to warble my merry way through the song, until I'm dressed and my still-dripping hair has been temporarily paralyzed in a death-grip ponytail. I come out of the bathroom, fully adorned in a New England Aquarium hoodie and some less-than-new blue jeans.

Josef is waiting for me on the couch.

Stupid Metzner.

Though I suppose I was asking for it. Now that I think about it, it is a rather 'sexy' song. I mean, "I could hear him past the sound of the words that he said/and I felt him past the lines of his skin" could be interpreted a few different (cough) ways.

"Mr. Konstantin. What a surprise." I smile at him and join him on the couch.

"Hello, Joanna." He smiles back. I seem to remember having a conversation with him about this yesterday.

"Do you need something?"

"You are a very wonderful singer. Do you know that? You should do it professionally."

"I do." He pauses, flustered.

"You do? That's wonderful. I'll have to get one of your recordings."

"Don't write music. Just sing it." Really. It's like professional karaoke. He smiles.

"Clearly. Your hands…these are not hands for trained monkey work." He picks up my hand and examines it, running fingers around my wrist.

"Mmm." I reply. I see a mischievous twinkle spark its way into his eye. I hold my wrist up higher, nearer his face, hand bent downward in an offering of my arm. He takes a long whiff.

"Don't think you want my blood, Josef. I've been tainted." We make eye contact for a brief second, his gaze lustful and mine expectant. His brow furrows, and, more curiously this time, he smells my wrist.

"I see you're quite the veteran when it comes to us." I try not to laugh. 'Veteran.' Indeed, veteran. I can think of a few people who'd attest to that. Still, though, he's realized: you don't get fourteen silver scars from a single vampire. Haha. I win. I start to pull my arm away triumphantly when he grabs it again.

"Come on. You do realize that a scar only forms when you're bitten repeatedly in the same place over and over again?" I frown at him.

"I do realize that, Joanna. I think it makes you more interesting. More…hardy." Hardy is a polite way of putting it. The truth is, I can survive things that no human should survive now. And either I have a really great health regime or I'm aging much, much slower than I should. It's then that I realize he's back to massaging my arm.

"Thirsty?" I ask softly. He's breathing rather heavily and he looks up at me. _Are you serious_? I smile and hold my arm up closer to his face. Just as he starts to open his mouth, ready to sink teeth into my already soiled flesh, I flick my wrist just so and pop him one in the nose. He reels backward, nose wrinkled in pain or disgust.

"Too bad." I tell him. Shit, man, what bad could pissing him off do?

Well, it could kill me again. What a nice thought at eight in the morning. He just laughs, amused.

"Can't blame a guy for trying." I grin back at him.

"Hey, everyone comes with baggage. Just so happens I come with enough to drown an elephant." He contemplates me for a few seconds before pulling me towards the door.

"Come on. You people need breakfast."

XXX

Oh, my god. Something smells like heaven. We're in the kitchen, which is clearly meant only for staff use. Less-than-sanitary pots hang from numerous hooks on the ceiling, there are four or five stoves, most of which are off, and every counter gleams white with bleach and disinfectant. I'm beginning to think that we really just separated ourselves boy/girl rather than human/not human, because Mick and Josef have seated themselves at one end while Beth and Vicki are at the other end of an exceptionally long oak table.

Mick stares intensely at Beth, and Josef stares intensely at a spot on the ceiling. Mort, however, is wearing an apron (which itself is worthy of an OMG), stirring something in a very tall pot. Both of the humans watch it hungrily.

"Tell me you didn't kill anything to make this." I walk up to him, placing my hand on exceptionally tall shoulder (add to that the fact that I'm about 5'5, and well, poo.) He 'ha's and shows me a spoonful of, well, yellow goop.

"So you killed a squash?" He just makes a rude, discreet face.

"It doesn't have a name. I have a friend who's a cook." I just bounce my eyebrows in response. Of course, there's no mention of last night. Not a bloody one. He only ever shows emotion when I'm half-drunk on sleep and half drunk on the closeness of him.

"Here? You wanna try?" Before I even know that I'm being assaulted viciously with breakfast soup, I feel a warm, deliciously inviting liquid slide down my throat, finally settling in the pit of my stomach with a contented sigh. It's amazing: somewhere between cookie dough and sweet carrot ginger soup, and I've never tasted anything better.

"Please tell me that didn't have meat." Is all I manage to choke out after reveling in it for a few moments.

"Johnny, I know you're vegetarian. You know I wouldn't do that."

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean you wouldn't lie about it to freak me out." I grin at him and he flashes a little smile in return. Something wrong? He turns back to the soup and I see a little tick in his jaw as he clenches it. He lets out a sigh through his nose and places his hands on either side of the pot, so that he's staring down into it with his shoulders hackled. Worried now, I place one of my hands on top of his.

"You okay?" He smiles weakly at me, then turns back to his soup, really for more of an excuse to not look at me.

"You know I love you, right?" …O-kay. Wasn't expecting that.

I was not expecting that. Still, I can almost feel my heart skip a beat. I don't know what he means by that. Well, I mean, it's just, I know what he means, but, I mean, I don't know if he means he's like _in_ love with me or he loves me like a sister or as a friend or…

"I love you too." It's easier to say than I thought. I suppose it had kind of been an assumed fact, you don't have that much history with someone without a certain level of…that. But I never imagined saying it out loud could make such a difference. He looks up at me, smiling, though still a bit sad.

And that's when I realize that everybody else has stopped talking and is now staring at us. There's complete, total silence for a lovely few minutes. No, minutes, I mean minutes. This is getting ridiculous. Someone needs to say something. Someone needs to say something now. I'm not going to say something. I always break the awkward silence. Let someone else break the awkward silence. I've paid my dues.

"So," says Beth, finally. Thank you, O daring Reporter.

"That soup smells really good. Is it ready yet?" She finishes. Mort coughs and rubs the back of his head with his hand.

"Whaddya you think Johnny? Is it done?"

"Yep. It's really good." I assure the other humans. Josef is trying not to giggle, and I can't blame him. If I were the one that had just watched a couple of idiots profess love for each other in front of a bunch of virtual strangers, I'd be giggling too. You know, I think I might like him. Mort hurriedly fills three bowls and hands them to me and, albeit with a large amount of difficulty and probably some spills, I take them over to the table. These are pretty nice bowls, actually, ceramic with these gorgeous swirls. Of course, being starving, all three of us start eating almost immediately. I pace myself, however, seeing as (as sad as it is) I somehow have this paranoia that everything I do of my own accord is judged by everyone around me. So, I eat slowly so that they think I'm not a pig or something.

Don't worry, I am. A pig, that is. I take interest in the way both of the vampires are reacting to this: Josef is staring at me rather disconcertingly, clearly fascinated by _something_, while Mick just watches all three of us sadly. I'm sure this smells incredible to a vampire. Poor guy just wants to eat food again. Maybe more. Despite myself, I feel sorry for him.

"So, what, you and the Indian vampire screwing each other?" Josef asks me. He has to speak loudly to be heard across the table. I can hear Beth spit out the mouthful of food she'd been working on, and Vicki is completely silent. Mick shoots Josef a warning glare and punches him in the arm, which he barely takes notice of.

But I can't help it.

I start giggling.

Oh my god. 'you and the Indian vampire screwing each other'. Greatest sentence ever. My giggles threaten to become outright laughs, and I hold my hand up to my mouth to prevent them. But I can hear Mort laughing behind me and that just does it: the two of us are nearly doubled over.

Josef just quirks an eyebrow.

"I take it that's a no, then?"

A/N: So, I don't mean to sound smug, but I kind of liked this chapter anyways. Just pure Johnny, through and through. I think the Josef scenes were the clinchers for me. So, anyone's thoughts, constructive criticisms, or general plot bunny feed is most definitely appreciated. In fact, I might even hug you eLeCtRoNiCaLlY! Cough. …Kidding.


	5. Filler, Much?

Big ol' disclaimer: I own nothing! Literally. Not even any ideas at this point. Hear my words: I. Am. Stuck.

Beth and I are each deeply invested in beating the other at Crazy Eights. This is getting intense. Fully absorbed in our game, we're actually sitting in the courtyard on either end of a towel, the stack of cards between us.

"Seven of diamonds," I announce, placing the card down. She frowns and glances at her cards, then back at the stack.

"Eight."

"What're you changing it to?" She pauses like she hadn't thought of that before. She looks at me and frowns.

"Do you have a lot of one thing?"

"No." I smile at her.

"You're lying." …how does she know that?

"You don't know that." She gives me a sly little smile. Do you know?

"You're not a very good liar." Excuse me? Ex_cuse_ me? I happen to pride myself on my lying ability, young lady. I've successfully lied to vampires. And they're basically just lie detectors with teeth.

"I told you, I'm not lying." I grin at her and now it's more of a game than ever.

"You have facial cues. For example, you're trying to hard to look me in the eye." I stare at her. Or, well, I look her in the eye.

"You're doing it again." Effing reporters. Smug little…little...blonde…person.

"Am not."

"Are too." I'm sorry, when did you become my little brother? The little smiles we've both been showing each other now break into outright grins.

"Spades." She says finally. I smirk triumphantly and place down my nine of spades. Haha. I have some.

There's a bit of a noise, disrupting our serious business, of a door opening. I look up and see Josef, nose to the air, sniffing something and frowning. He closes the door again. Then I see Mick come around the corner, also clearly smelling something in the air imperceptible us silly little humans, before going behind said corner again. Mort looks up as well, lowering the hand that was about to throw a stick that, by every physical law of nature, he shouldn't be able to pick up. Bolt, for whom he was about to throw the stick (or maybe he just gets a kick out of throwing stuff. I dunno.), also smells something funny.

Then Josef opens the door again and smells. Mick comes out again and smells. Mort shows up again and smells. And I'm beginning to think about Whack-A-Mole.

"Guys?" I call. All three turn their heads to look at me. No, I mean in unison. It's kind of creepy. Also kind of reminds of Monty Python and the Holy Grail with the three-headed giant. Just saying.

"Yeah?" Mick asks.

"Something up?" Vicki, who must have seen their vaudeville act, comes out of her room.

"There's…I mean, do you guys…you guys smell that?" Josef starts out speaking to me, though eventually directs the question to Mick and Mordecai. Both of them nod, frowning.

"Let's go." Mort nods his head in the direction of the parking lot, and they head for it.

"Come on." I tell Beth, and we both carefully shift out of our cross-legged positions, hurrying to catch up.

"Wait, what was it?" I shout. The three of them look up from their cars. Okay, wait. All three are taking separate cars. That is just wasteful.

"Blood." Josef tells me.

"Vampire blood." Mick adds. Oooooh dear. Vampire blood either means that somebody's getting turned (boo!) or maybe some newbies are killing each other off (still boo! But, less boo.) Or something else. I…I don't know what the something else is though. Hence the pronouns. Wow, I really need sleep.

I start for Mort's car and Beth starts for Mick's, while Vicki stands there looking rather embarrassed because she can't drive herself and doesn't know anybody else that well. Mort stares at me, a little bit shocked.

"You're not coming, you know that?"

"What?"

"You're not coming."

"I so am coming!"

"Right, and what're you going to do, fall on one of them?"

"I know how to fight."

"You don't know how to fight vampires."

"I know how to fight vampires!" He raises his eyebrows. _Really? Really, you do? Because I seem to remember something from a month or two ago…_

"That doesn't count."

"Johnny, you ended up dying on an island after smashing into a rock." I cross my arms and pout. People need to stop bringing that up. It's like, it happened once, why does that mean it's going to happen every single time? Stupid overprotective tendencies.

"That doesn't count."

"How does it not count?!" Because it just DOESN'T.

Beth looks at Mick, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.

"Mick, talk some sense into him." Mick looks a bit disgruntled.

"It's not safe, Beth."

"Wh-"

"Beth!" She just purses her lips. "Fine." Vicki, however, is still insistent on coming.

"One of you is giving me a ride."

"You wouldn't help us."

"Yes I would."

"No, you wouldn't." She whips out a reasonably menacing asp.

"Yes. I would." Josef stares at her for a few seconds. Then he abruptly strides over and bends it in half. Vicki's mouth is open in shock and anger. Well, that'll teach us to piss off the sexist vampires.

"My asp!"

"See? You wouldn't help." She glowers. Then she looks at her poor dismantled weapon and whimpers a little. I come over and pat her on the back, clearly offering little solace.

"My asp…" she says again. She kind of reminds me of a little girl who just dropped her ice cream in the mud. That's when I notice that Mort's gotten into his car.

"Hey!" I knock on the window. He looks up at me and smiles innocently.

"Open the car!" He's pretending he can't hear me, going about his business getting buckled in and adjusting the mirrors…

"This is unjust." Still pretending.

"This isn't funny." He turns to me. "It so is."

"You're going to pay for this."

"We'll see." He backs the car up and makes a three-point turn, and just before the car leaves I shout to him.

"I'M GOING TO STEAL SOMETHING THAT BELONGS TO YOU!!" Wow. That was just…pitiful. Actually, I…already have. Stolen something of his. Um. Remember that aquarium sweatshirt? Yeah, about that…

I turn to the other humans. "You ever feel like we miss out on like half the good stuff?"

XXX

This has to be the weirdest 'sleepover' ever. Vicki, Beth and I are all sitting around in one of the rooms that no one has claimed.

"So what are we, the vampire fan club?" Asks Vicki. Beth snorts.

"Yeah, I wouldn't really call us a 'fan' club."

"More like a support group." I say. Well, that's what I've always thought of it. There's a knock on the door. I say 'knock' because I can't think of a better word for the bizarre mix of scratches and awkward thumps.

"Hello?" Bump. Scratch.

"Oof."

"Who is it?"

"Awoofoo." THUMP. Beth is starting to look mildly disturbed.

"What is that?" She asks me. Vicki knows, though. How do I go about saying this to her? Well, Beth dear, it's a four hundred pound hellhound with a tendency to sit on vampires and crack ribs, kill small-to-medium-sized mammals, and protect his masters against the forces of evil. He's also a licker. I just go and open the door and let him in, and the way the setting sun glints off of his back makes it look almost…red.

"Hey buddy-OOF!" He rears up excitedly, placing his paws on my chest and pushing me backwards. I can't see anything, scrunching my eyes up and trying in vain to protect my face from the onslaught of The Really Big Tongue.

"Bolt! Bolt, what the hell?! Bolt get off me! Get off-!!"I manage to shout. I doubt I could've gotten him off me regardless, but, you know, yelling helps. Doesn't help me get rid of him, just makes me feel better.

Luckily, he relents of his own accord. I stand up, crossing my arms.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to retain dignity when you've just been attacked by…it's very hard to retain my dignity. Bolt looks at me innocently and clambers onto the bed, putting his face between his paws and looking up at me remorseful-puppy style.

"Nuh-uh. I'm mad at you." I stare at him, tapping my foot. He starts to whine.

"No." He stops. But he's still looking at me with his big puppy eyes. Well if he thinks that's going to work, he'd better think again. I am immune to the big puppy eyes look. I have become desensitized. I do not care. No. You and your big brown eyes have no impact on me. None whatsoever. I'm mad, and no amount of cutesy tail wagging is going to-

"Who's a good puppy?!" Vicki's snapped under pressure. "Who's a good boy?" she scratches him behind the ears and he starts panting in appreciation. But, then he goes back to whining and looking at me, because I'm still…kind of…miffed…

But he's just so-darn-cute. Prepare yourself for the creepiest puppy talk ever.

"Who's a clever boy? Who's a good boy? Who ran away from hell? Who stopped doing the bidding of his master Satan? You did! Yes you did!" See? I wasn't kidding. I meant it when I said hellhound. The other two just stare, and stare, and stare at me…

"Um." I look up from Bolt, who's enjoying himself very, very much.

"Is he…you're kidding about that, right?"

"Would you honestly believe me if I said yes?"

"No."

"He's a hellhound."

"Like, an actual hellhound?" Beth pipes in. I look at her.

"Yep."

"So, he…"

"It's not really all that pivotal."

"But isn't he kind of…"

"Evil?" I finish for her.

"Well, yeah."

"Yes. Well, no. He's…not…he can't make the distinction, I think. He just protects."

"You?"

"No, just in general." They look confused. And no wonder, I'm confused too. 'he just protects'? Way to be vague, Johnny. Hm. I sit down on the bed and let Bolt climb into my lap as far as he can get. Which, basically, is just his head. Poor little fella.

You see? You see what this dog does to me?! 'Fella'? 'LITTLE'?! Wow, I'm such a sucker.

But he's just such a cutie pie.

"So, Beth."

"Yeah?"

"What's the deal with you and Mick?" She freezes. I bet you I know what's coming next.

"It's…complicated." Shocker. I am so sick of people saying 'it's complicated' when you can just say 'friends with sexual tension'. It's more accurate. I have more. Ready? 'Kiss and regret it later's, and 'I think about you in the shower but would never admit it's and 'I'll flirt with you but never let it get any farther than that's…but I digress. I think, on some level, everyone enjoys answering questions like that with non-answers. Such as 'it's complicated'.

It takes away the value of the phrase for those of us for whom it actually is complicated. It should be reserved, frankly. No. You two are not 'complicated', you two are pretty easy to figure out as soon as you get over your whatever-issues.

Actually, while we're at it, Voice Of Reason, would care to add any thoughts as to the 'I love you' proclamations in the kitchen this morning?

_What's there to add? You two love each other. I don't see the problem._

The problem is that I don't know what either of us meant.

_It's pretty self-explanatory._

No it's not! It's anything but, you stupid jerk! What, does this make us an IFWYBNLIGAFTT (see above)?

_Not necessarily._

You know, I knew there was I reason I hadn't used you since that whole rock thing.

_Excuse me, young lady, but I saved your life._

This can't be normal. Normal people don't have conversations with their psyches.

_Dear, you are anything but normal._

That was not directed at you. Me. Stupid bloody…

_Why goodness me, that sounded rather British, didn't it?_

I'm from Maine, you twit.

_But where were you from before you were from Maine?_

What?

No.

No way, man. You're…I'm the…part of me that's left over from the seventeenth century. Well, might as well cram all the weirdness I can into one day, right?

_Old lessons die hard, love. I'm just appealing to the side of you that remembers all that._

So you're Mizilca?

_That's right, name the voice in your head. YOU are Mizilca, she is you, you are one and the same. I assumed you (me) knew that._

Then what the hell are me…is you?

_I'm your subconscious. I make sure you don't smash into rocks._

Yeah, great job on that, by the way.

_I warned me. You._

(I hate pronouns right now.) So wait, what is the purpose of my subconscious?

"Joanna?" It's Vicki.

"Uh-huh?" Beth and Vicki exchange glances. Well, yes, I'm crazy, but at least I realize it.

"Were you thinking about something?" Well, actually I was talking to the voice in my head. But, I won't tell you that.

"Nah, I just lost my train of thought." Well, it's half true. Ahahaha. Well, I still need to work on my crazy cackle if I want to properly go off my rocker.

"So, you were saying, about you and Mick?" Beth looks rather like she just dodged a bullet only to discover that it's a centimeter wide heat-seeking missile.

"Um…like I said, it's just…it's…"

"Complicated, I know. Believe me, you won't find more sympathetic or understanding ears." I look to Vicki, who nods in agreement. We've all had our fair share of vamp-y drama.

"Well, I wouldn't even know where to start!"

"It's generally recommended that you start at the beginning, though some people like to start from the middle and work outwards." She takes a deep breath.

"Well, I guess the best place to start would be when I had this story about Hearst College…" She proceeded to tell the tale. After discovering he was a vampire, they stayed in contact and grew closer from there, though never close enough to touch. There was always the looming prospect of her boyfriend, then her deceased boyfriend. That's something we have in common, to a certain extent. Then again, not really.

"I mean…it's not…can I tell you guys something I've never told anyone?" We both nod numbly. Probably something she wasn't willing to admit to her friends. But, I already know what it is and I'm betting anyone could guess.

"I…I never meant to, but…I've got some serious…" she winces. "Feelings for him." Try to look surprised.

"It's understandable. I mean, the man is clearly…" Don't say infatuated, infatuated implies that he's just horny. What's a nicer word? Well, obsessed clearly works.

"From what I can see, your feelings are mutual." I finish. Yeah. Obsessed kind of implies that he's stalking her. Then again…No, I'm just not going there.

"What about you, Vicki?" Bullet's already killed Beth, now's headin' Vickiward. Fear me, women with back stories!

"No way, man. You first." What? Crap.

"How do I know you'll share after me?"

"You already know mine!"

"I don't." Beth adds. We smile at each other conspiratorially. Vicki shakes her head.

"Yeah, but nobody knows _your_ story." I know my story. Does that count? That so counts.

"Oh would one of you just _go_ already! I refuse to be the only one to pour my heart out." Beth cries. The truth is my story is way creepier than either of theirs. But I'm sure you know that by now. An impenetrable silence descends on the room, like everything is muffled with cloth. I look out the window, up at the stars.

"They should be back by now." I whisper. I can see Orion from here, my favorite constellation, if only because it's the only one I can ever find. I can't keep the feeling from my stomach, that sinking that tells you that everything has gone horribly, horribly wrong. But my instincts were always off when it came to that.

As long as I don't start crying.

"You don't think something's wrong, do you?" Beth is also whispering, though I can see where Vicki's thoughts are: she doesn't have anyone to worry about. Not really.

"Vicki?" Her head snaps up as the voice, though muffled, reaches her ears. The door opens a crack and in peeps the perpetual teenager that is Fitzroy.

"Henry?" I don't know what to do. Despite myself, I can't move, though I know that this is a moment that should be private for them. No, literally, I can't move, Bolt has lived up to his name.

Vicki looks at me, eyebrows very purposefully raised. "Sorry!" I mouth helplessly.

"Bolt." I whisper in his ear. "Bolt. You need to get up. Bolt." I try to move my legs. Since when do hellhounds fall asleep? Some guardian he is. I succeed in wiggling my legs a little, which jolts him out of his reverie and, whimpering, he clambers off and trots outside. Somewhere in that short amount of time, Beth has slipped out. Jeez, way to abandon me.

"Hem. Sorry. Leaving." Henry shoots me a grateful smile as I slip out. Of course, seeing that look on Vicki's face made me miss Mort. I want my Indian vampire (note how I said that in a way not unlike 'I want my teddy bear' or 'I want my ice cream'). But Bolt's right next to me, and I take comfort in his presence. I just can't keep from worrying. Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I wander around outside with him for a little while, just walking aimlessly while he follows at my heel.

A/N: I'm not too happy with this chapter. It was kind of forced. Like I tried to cram too much into too short a space – so, sorry. But, as consolation, I thought everyone should know how Johnny originally found out about vampires. It went just about like this:

Nik: Johnny, I need to tell you something.

Johnny: What?

Nik: I'm a vampire.

Johnny: Okay.

Nik: I'm not kidding you. I'm actually a vampire.

Johnny: And I'm an Aries. What's your point?

Nik: You're not taking me seriously.

Johnny: Am too. You're just telling me cause you're thirsty, aren't you?

That's all :D. And, again, really, REALLY sorry about this chapter. I just kind of lost the characters in the middle, only got them back near the end (which sucked anyway, so...)


	6. And You Thought You Had a Weird Job

Disclaimer: Yay! Unstuck now! I don't own Moonlight or Blood Ties or an aquarium sweatshirt or good taste in music, blah, blah, blah, blah. I do, however, own a rather tattered copy of Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats by T.S. Elliot! Hurrah!

Three minutes later, and Henry just leaves the room. He's looking mildly distraught, running a hand through his hair and pacing back and forth in front of Vicki's room, unsure.

Well, he's getting a talkin' to. I wasn't kidding.

"Hey!" I shout. He looks up like he didn't even know that I was here. Which, of course, he must have, considering that bipartas are always ranting about 'I can hear your heartbeat' and 'you smell like flowers with a hint of coconut and estrogen.'

"Can I help you with something?"

"Have you two resolved whatever it is that you two need to resolve?" I know what the problem is, but I doubt Henry would appreciate the knowledge that Vicki told a virtual stranger.

"I don't see how that's any of your business." He crosses his arms. Look, ma, a scary tall guy. Does he think that that will have any affect whatsoever on me, of all people?

"Well, are you guys still going to be all pissy with each other?" Do we need to separate you? Do you two need quiet time? I can't believe I sound like this.

He sneers at me. "No, Joanna, we are not going to be 'pissy with each other'." Well call me mud.

"Then you're okay?" He pauses. Right, so they probably just agreed to tolerate one another until they can go home.

No way mister. Before he even realizes it, I turn him around, open the door, stuff him inside and lock it. I doubt that the lock will stop him, but I just kind of wanted too anyway. Nyah nyah. Now who has more pride?! Suckah. Talk to your girlfriend.

Feeling like a good-doer and generally self-smug all around, I head off to the parking lot to tap my foot impatiently and look imposing for when they come back.

XXX

When they do, I forget what ever speech it was that I had been planning.

I see only one car, Mort's, and though it has black tinted windows I'm assuming that all three are inside. The car rushes into the parking lot with an ear breaking screech, stopping so suddenly that I see black smoke rise from the tires, though my attention is on the people getting out of the car.

"Keep his head down!"

"Don't let him see any of the humans!"

"Is he even still alive?!" I don't see who shouts what, but all three voices have that hurried, anxious tinge signifying an emergency.

But if there are three voices who, then, are they talking about?

Josef gets out of the driver's side in the front, closely followed by Mick in the passenger's seat. The first thing I notice: Josef's shirt is torn, one sleeve hanging on by a thread, and Mick's got scratches all over his face and hands. What were they doing? Did something go wrong?

I begin to hurry over, but then I see why everyone was so hurried: Mort gets out. Cradled to his chest is a boy, no more than fifteen or sixteen, and deathly pale. He convulses uncontrollably, retching like a helpless infant. Did they…did they bring back a victim of an attack?

Did they bring back a newly turned vampire? Mick reaches for the boy, but Mort hisses at him, hugging him to his chest tighter.

As if realizing what he's just done, he apologizes. "I don't…I'm sorry, it's just, you have to understand…I don't normally…he's…" He doesn't need to finish the sentence, because mentally we can all finish for him. _He's one of mine._

"Mort?" I ask weakly, afraid that the animal in him will override his habits and he'll just snarl and me and run away. Perhaps I should stop to explain what's happening right now, as I suppose it could be rather confusing. You see, as I'm sure has already become clear, there are three species of vampires, with various subspecies beyond that. _Odontorus uniparta_, meaning 'one tooth' (or one set of fangs) is the species under which our good friends Mickolas and Josef fall. Their particular subspecies, _O. uniparta _sp"silver", obviously is derived from the silver color that their eyes take on when hunting – which allows them to see distinct heat signatures (they see in heat-vision). These are the most common type that you're likely to come across – not that you'll know if you do. In some regards, they are the 'least evolved' of the three major species, though really they're just very adaptable to different climates. They also have the least trouble turning humans, which is not to say that they don't have any trouble with it.

_O. biparta_, meaning 'two teeth' (or two sets of fangs) would be where our lovely little princely jackass Henry goes. They're still common, though they seem to opt for avoiding each other rather than coming together in flocks like unipartas. They're mostly a Northern species, originating near Europe. Other than that, they aren't very different from unipartas, with the exception of a light-sensitive gland that causes the body to produce enough toxins to slow its metabolism down enough to appear dead, a left over adaptation from the days when sunlight meant prey could become predator. Stop me if all this is going over your head. It's just, you know, this is what happens when you spend too much time around a sadistic vampire biologist/nomadic goat herder/whatever.

Lastly there's _Odontorus vispus_, meaning…well, nothing really. Mort says it was actually named that because of some heartbreaking little tale about a cat that belonged to the scientist. Wow, buddy, name Asian vampires after your _cat_. Of all the bloody things. Still, I guess vispus sounds cool, huh? Anyway. They're just about the rarest species of vampire, being that turning can very, very easily go wrong. Only the strongest survive it, which is the idea. Only the good genes live to be passed on to the next 'generation' – meaning that there's only a new one once every few decades. The good news is, once you get past turning, you're near indestructible: being mostly from India and western China, they produce a large amount of melanin relative to the others. As a result of their rarity, however, instinctively they protect each other. It's amazing to see perfect strangers risk their own lives for one another like this, the pack mentality that runs through them all, unspoken. You know, like 'Hi, my name's Eli, and I habitually jump in front of loaded guns.' Except for the ones who go wrong.

So Mort has to try extremely hard not to clutch the boy to his chest and tear everyone else's throat out. Panting, hard, I see that every muscle in his body is tense and angry, and with great difficulty he manages instead to head for the motel. I take a few steps after him, as do Mick and Josef.

"Don't." I warn. He'll be okay with a human, but two more vampires for too long might make him snap. I'm not saying it wouldn't make a kickass fight scene, but, you know, a double-murder-suicide might not look to good when the receptionist comes back.

And on that cheerful note! I hurry after Mort, keeping a good distance behind the two of them, as he heads for the innermost room. Weaving his way through little mini-overhangs and half-assed patches of lawn and garden gnomes, he eventually finds the room he was looking for.

After considering it a moment, he just kicks the door in effortlessly and without so much as leaving a footprint on it. Always with the details, my guy. It's then that I realize that my muscles are all shivering, like they do when fatigued, though I'm not tired at all: it's adrenaline.

And adrenaline is bad around newly turned vampires.

I hear a vicious, angry snarl let loose from inside the room, like a mix between the roar of a lion and the hiss of a snake, angry and hungry.

There's a loud thump, like something heavy being thrown. Like a person.

Seconds later, Mort comes back out, closes the door and locks it. Closing his eyes, he's still tense for a moment, before he lets it all go, leaning back up against the door and stretching his head back to touch it, several black locks falling across his stressed face.

"Mort?" I call to him, though I don't come over, unsure how he'll react. He opens his eyes and seems to notice me for the first time. He smiles and nods his head in a gesture, asking me to come over, which I do. Standing directly in front of him, I'm forced to turn my head upward a bit to see his face.

"He's a vispus, Johnny. I don't know what else, but he's a vispus. Almost too weak to move." He almost whispers to me. Cryptic, much? He's basically telling me that the creep-o that turned Little Boy Blue is one of the oldest ones alive, doesn't think twice about turning (__), and is generally a very, very bad man. Shame, shame.

He purses his lips, looking at me in a way I can't say that I like. He leans in close, face right down by my neck. Seemingly as an afterthought, he looks up at me.

"Don't be scared, okay?" Don't be scared? Don't be SCARED? What the hell are you doing?!

He presses his face to my neck, and I distinctly feel razor-sharp teeth move up and down. Please tell me this is his really, really, really creepy and disgusting way of, like, necking or something.

Actually, that would be worse.

Now, it's not that I'm not used to being bitten (far from it), but not by him. I don't know what he thinks he's doing, but if he thinks I'm just his personal fucking juice bar-

"Okay, all done now." He pulls away. Wait, what just happened exactly? I put my hand to my neck, but I can't feel a thing.

"What'd you do?" He stares down at me, and his smile is sweet, if a little on the mischievous side. If he says "mine", I swear I'll kill him.

"I made sure he wouldn't see you as regular old prey." Oh. Well, that's okay then. Except for the fact that I have absolutely no idea what he's talking about.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Well, you smell a thousand year old vampire very, very heavily on someone, tends to sober you up a bit." I break into a happy, open-mouthed grin as I realize what he's saying.

"You're gonna let me go in!" I poke him in the chest, joking.

"I don't think that would be such a wise idea, Joanna!" Oh, look, Henry got out of his cage again. Well, poo.

I turn around to glare at him. "Well, how to you propose we deal with this, Mr. Fitztroy?" Mort asks. Henry turns to him.

"She's just a human. You must realize he won't be able to resist killing her! Let me go in. I have some experience with fledglings." I have to keep myself from laughing at him. 'Some experience' is small pertaters compared to what I've done. Not only did I, as a human, practically raise one on my own, but I've actually 'oriented' several to feeding off live people.

"I'm not 'just' _a_ human, Henry." I tell him, just before slipping into the room.

XXX

All of the lights are off, so my vision is limited to what I can see illuminated by the window. Among the objects are the bed, the bedside table and lamp, and a small, shivering body.

A boy with dark, shiny hair, short and straight. He's on his side, arms wrapped around his knees, trying to make himself as small as possible. I don't know if he's even noticed me in the room, as he continues to stare into space, his eyelids moving repetitively in and back slightly, like his vision is going in and out of focus. He didn't ask for this, I can see it on his face. Didn't ask to be pulled irreversibly into a world he knows nothing about.

"Hello," I announce my presence, which to a certain extent helps him regain a degree of lucidity. I hear him gasp a little and look up at me. I walk over to him, sitting there trembling like a frightened puppy, and sit down next to him on the bed. I place a reassuring hand on his back. Clichéd as it is, who would do something like this for no reason? How did they find him? He can barely move.

"What's your name?" I keep my voice as quiet as possible, as his ears won't be able to take the strain of full-volume Johnny for quite a while, until he adjusts.

"Ben." I'm surprised that he can even form an answer to my question. For the first time, he seems to notice my close proximity, unfolding himself and scooting back as far as he can to the head board of the bed. The scene is almost eerie, the way moonlight is washing over everything, making it softer, more surreal.

"Well, Ben, I'm Joanna." I move closer to him, he tenses. "I'm going to ask you to do something. Okay?" He nods, almost imperceptibly.

"Okay." I continue. Moving still closer, I manage to get to a point where we're almost touching. Reaching my left arm around, I work it under his shoulder and near his neck so that I'm supporting his head. The other arm I hold near his face.

"Now, this is going to sound a little silly, but I want you to take a nice, long sniff of my arm and then do whatever it is that your body tells you to do. Don't worry, it'll be okay. I won't mind at all. I want you to. Do you think you can do that for me, Ben?" He only stares at me, shocked and a bit horrified. He's realized what I'm expecting him to do, because he himself can realize what he wants. Very carefully, tentatively, he takes my arm in both of his hands.

Just before he does it, I watch as he nearly breaks down. His body gives the impression of being wracked with sobs, though his face is expressionless. And I remember once again that remorse is not within the vispus repertoire of base emotions.

"It's okay, Ben, it's fine. There's nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all." I smile as best I can and stroke my thumb across his temple. He looks up at me again, still shivering, then flashes his slit-like yellow pupils and sinks his teeth into my arm mercilessly. I can hear the wet, suckling sounds from his mouth.

It hurts, obviously it hurts, but for me the pain is dulled by experience. If I don't obsessively think about it, it turns into a constant, dull thudding instead of searing, white fire. Absently, I feel myself stroking the back of his head. Ironic, that the prey must sooth the predator.

"Shh." I whisper. "Shhh. You're doing good, Ben, you're doing just fine." I'm not sure, but I think I can feel him smile against my arm, just a little bit.

I tense my muscles, not out of fear, but in order to facilitate more blood flow. Still, it's not coming fast enough for him: I feel him start to suck it out, this bizarre pulling and twisting feeling.

That's when the hand behind his head comes into play: I press down on either side of the joint between his jaw and his skull and his mouth opens involuntarily, like a snake. Grabbing a towel, I wrap it around my arm to stem the blood flow.

"That's when you stop, Ben. When you have to start sucking. That means you've had enough." He's staring into space, not entirely listening to me.

"You're not a monster." I whisper, placing my hand on the side of his face. He's a very pretty boy, really. Perfectly proportioned features, chillingly bone white skin framed by hair blacker than obsidian. He looks at me gratefully.

"Ben?"

"Mm?" It seems the only thing he's able to say.

"I'm going to leave now, okay? I'll come back again tomorrow and we'll talk."

"Uh huh." I smile at him weakly before slipping past out the door.

A/N: Okay, well, obviously this one had considerably fewer funny bits, but COME ON! How on earth was I supposed to add funny bits to the serious moment without taking away from all the serious-i-ness? Anyway, hopefully the next bit will be both funny and serious. That is to say, I haven't even written it yet, so, good luck to me in that respect! Heh. Reviews feed the starving plot bunnies.


	7. Put On a Shirt, You Nasty Old Man

Disclaimer: Can't I just say 'see previous'? Because I'm writing far, far too many of these. I might write a song about it. I do not own Moonlight, I do not own Blood Ties, I do not own Mordecai or Joanna or Nik or whoever else is mentioned, blah, blah, blah. Which isn't to say that both Mort and Johnny aren't currently living in my mind, but still. Some of you know what I'm talking about ;). Did I do that right? The winking smiley face? Oop. This went on for way too long.

Course, blood loss being what it is, I can't exactly stay standing up for more than, say, thirty seconds once I get out. As soon as I close the door my knees buckle against their own will.

"Johnny!" Mort catches me by the arms. I really, really hate being the invalid here, but hey, I do it well.

"_Don't_."

"Don't what?"

"Don't even think about carrying me." He just snorts and shakes his head.

XXX

Wow, I'm a vampire Nanny. I also really wish I hadn't just thought of that term. But at this point, there's really nothing else that does it justice quite like vampire Nanny.

So as I wash my arm off, I begin to think: other than the obvious, what exactly happened? Ben had to have been a vampire for at least a few days, certainly no longer than a week, which means that what they arrived on hadn't been the scene of a turning. Was he feeding off someone? Did it go wrong?

Ow. You know, you'd think that after the number of times I'd put up with them newbie bite marks wouldn't be so painful for me.

Ow.

Guess not.

OW! Mother of a flying turtle donkey! What the hell?! There's a huge bruise there!

That's it. Me and fate need to have a very serious face-to-face conversation about it's sense of humor.

XXX

So, cleaned and primped and generally scabbing over, I wait outside Mort's room for him to emerge. I pound the door once, twice, three times.

"Hello!" I pound it three times again.

"Mort! Hello! Family meeting! Get to Mick's room!" Still no answer. What, is he half dead again? He said he'd conked out fully before we left.

"MORT! DO YOU OR DO YOU NOT WANT TO FIGURE OUT WHAT TO-"

"What?!" He whips open the door, staring me down and looking rather miffed. Instead of his usual attire of loose-cotton-shirt-and-khaki-pants-or-maybe-some-jeans, he's opted for kind-of-tight-black-t-shirt-with-weird-grey-sweatpants. Alternately known as pajamas, but whatever.

"Were you sleeping?" He nods, exasperated. "Then how did you wake up?" He stares at me for a second like it's painfully obvious and I'm being a bit of a moron.

"I was _sleeping_ because I wanted to _sleep_. Not temporarily die for a week." Oh. Heh. Never really occurred to me that he would sleep voluntarily. Oop. I should explain: instead of sleeping on a regular basis, once in a while they just virtually die for a long period of time. Depending on the age of the vampire it can range from months to hours.

"You know, it's funny." I think aloud.

"What?" I grin at him.

"Well, most vampires sleep with their shirts off. You never do." A playful smile tugs at his lips as he plays along.

"What are you trying to say, Joanna?"

"Well, Mick St. John sleeps with his shirt off. Josef Konstantin sleeps with his shirt off. Henry Fitzroy half-dies for half of the day in a similar state of undress." He stares at me for a second.

"How…how would you even know something like that?" Vicki and Beth told me, but I'm not going to relay that information to him. Nah. First-rate mind fucker, that Joanna Lovett. Yes indeedy.

"Oh, come on. If I told you all my secrets I wouldn't be fun any more." I wink at him. He looks a mixture of surprised, amused, and completely flabbergasted, which is kind of like surprised only with more syllables.

My arm is still hurting. I don't know why I didn't notice until just now, but the dull, throbbing and constant pain is there once more and I'm feeling woozy.

"Um," I manage, holding my hand to my forehead as my vision swims in front of me. Olympic swimmers, my eyes are.

For the second time tonight he has to support me with his arms.

"Are you sure you're okay? Maybe you should get back to bed."

"It comes and goes. I'll be fine." I tell him weakly, though he doesn't believe me at all. And no wonder, I wouldn't believe me, I'm still leaning on him for support.

"Johnny, you sure? You still look a bit pale." I also feel a bit pale. That's not going to stop me from weighing in on the conversation.

"I'm still going. Just…you'll be there?" Still supporting me, he smiles and holds me a little closer.

"Yeah, sweetie. Yeah, I'll be there."

"Kay. See you in twenty minutes?"

XXX

I'm the first one to get to Mick/Josef's little freezer fest, which is kind of sad since I'm the one who's just lost nearly two pints of blood. The rest of you had better have a damn good excuse.

"Joanna, please, come in." Josef opens the door before I even get to knock, which I find annoying and rather rude, and kind of makes me want to punch him in the throat.

Oh, and, guess what? He's not wearing a shirt. Wow, that conversation with Mort just came back to bite me in the ass. Josef is heavily muscled and he knows it.

Me, however, I prefer my vampires slightly wafish. I dunno.

Upon entering the room, I promptly make myself as comfortable as possible while taking on the most unassuming position possible on the couch, perched on the arm like I'm ready to bolt at any second.

Mick appears from the bathroom, wearing only pants and drying his face with a towel. I'm surrounded by muscular, shirtless vampires, and I'm starting to get a complex.

I'm going to level with you. I don't find them all that attractive. I have bizarre tastes that tend towards complete, disinterested geekiness. I think it's the deep-seated memory of being in the unpopular crowd in school and loving every minute of it that causes me to enjoy blowing up the ego of the good-looking guys. Sort of a 'haha, not every-fucking-body thinks you're hot so take that' mentality. Sweet, sweet payback.

Josef grins at me and leans up against a wall, crossing his arms across his bare chest. I watch as he runs his tongue across his teeth, long and slow.

Subtle, dude.

"Dude."

"Yes, Joanna?"

"I don't know, do you maybe wanna put on a shirt?" The smirk drains from his face as he uncrosses his arms and stares at me some more. Finally relenting, he walks back into the bedroom. I'm pretty sure I hear a comment along the lines of "Women today. Honestly." With his back to me, I stick my tongue out and waggle it around a little.

"Thbbblt." Out of the corner of my eye I see Mick watching me, eyebrows raised.

"What, don't tell me you don't think he deserves it." He pauses, like he's considering it, then shrugs and nods a little.

"Yeah. I suppose you have a point." I stare at him now.

"You know, the same goes for you, bud."

"Excuse me?"

"My personal behavior towards you may not change at all, but you're still going to need to put on a shirt." Actually, come to think of it, do they all have some sort of fetish with taking off as many articles of clothing as would be considered decent whenever possible? Because I'm noticing a disturbing trend.

Mick just stays mum for a second, like he forgot that his chest is open and out there for all to see.

"Oh. Um. Sorry." He disappears into the bathroom again. Wow, buddy. It takes special skills to be that outright dumb.

Well, despite the obvious nonchalance that the unipartas are displaying, there's quite a lot to be discussed. Firstly, Beth, Vicki and I are not useless Captain's widows and the three of us agreed that we are going to beat the living nightlights out of them until we get some answers about what happened. No avoidance.

Second, we need to figure out what it is that we're doing with Ben. Now, I honestly don't even want to _consider_ some of the things that I know will be brought up as options for him. If he's a vispus, raising him will be much easier as for the most part we can either set him free into the cold, cold world (preferably near a park or nature reserve), or teach him to live with people. That's what I'm opting for.

Thirdly, and maybe I should be writing these down, we need to find out what it is that he even remembers about the whole (cough) turning-against-your-will-was-it-a-creepy-old-guy. That'll be a fun talk. Probably up to me, to. Waaaa hoo.

I hear the door open behind me and turn around to see Vicki walk in, followed by what I must say looks like a very, very happy Henry Fitzroy. Aww. See? I told you locking them in a room together was a good idea.

On that note: ewwwww. I am not going near that bed until the sheets are washed and I know exactly what happened. Hopefully nothing. But I have a sick mind. Oh, man, now I'm going to spend the entire time thinking up sick and disgusting things that _nobody_, including me, _ever_ needs to know about.

Vicki sits down in one of those huge, padded chairs while Henry leans over it. Wow, his smile is a little disconcerting even from here.

And during the time I was being mildly disconcerted, turns out Mort has showed up on the other end of the couch, legs crossed and arms resting on either side of his body. I'm glad he's here, because as hard as it is for me to admit that I need something, I prefer having him around. Especially since I was bitten. I feel like the wound is gapingly obvious, even to the humans.

So, I can't help it, because he just looks so inviting and comfortable. I crawl over and seat myself firmly in his lap, crossing my own legs and wriggling down into the hollow of his. Did I mention that he's a very comfortable person? Well, he's a very comfortable person. I suppose my actions are equal parts joking and equal parts looking for support.

Luckily he seems to have both in spades. I feel him wrap his arms around my waist loosely, like those bars that go in front of you on the slightly more…er…wonky…roller coasters. I place my hands on those arms, settling into his body a little more. I ignore the confused look from Vicki and the jealous look from Henry. Now, I don't mean to say that Henry is jealous of Mort or me, but rather the fact that I'm willing to openly act this way around him.

I told you. No lines. I need to feel a little bit safer for a little while and Mort's perfectly willing to put up with my paranoia for as long as I have it. Hell, I'm a small person, I fit.

Beth must have come in while I was taking my new seat because I can see her now standing in the corner watching as Mick and Josef reappear from their respective rooms, now wearing some bloody shirts. Uh, in this case, 'bloody' is an expression. The…the shirts aren't actually, you know, blood stained.

Just in case that needed clarification. Ahem.

So everybody's here.

"Shall we begin?" It's Henry who starts us off. I half expect him to say 'in the matter of the Vampires vs. Benjamin what's-his-name…'

"What do you propose we do about the…fledgling situation?" Josef looks at him solemnly. He's put on a maroon collared shirt, adding a certain number of points to the 'I take you seriously' column for me. Relative to shirtless, that is.

"Simple. His sire is of no use, he'll turn feral. We eliminate him as soon as possible." He wouldn't be saying that if he knew how Mort would react. I dig my fingernails into his arms, nonverbally pleading with him to hold back and just explain.

"There's no need!" He still can't keep the hint of urgency from his voice. I loosen my grip and opt instead for simply rubbing my thumb up and down his arms. _I'm here. It's okay. We won't let anything bad happen to him._

"Vispus turning is rather different." I continue for him. "They are usually perfectly capable of raising themselves. If we want to be sure that they'll be compatible with humans sooner rather than later, a certain level of orientation is required, but other than that it's simple." I feel Mordecai's arms tighten around me just a bit, though I'm not exactly sure why.

Mick, Josef and Henry exchange glances and I'm feeling slightly left out.

"We'll deal with that when we come with it."

"Indeed, as long as I reserve the right to speak from my own experience when it comes to the matter." Mort sounds a bit pained as he says this. But I'm intrigued. Do I finally get to learn how he was turned? Do I finally know something about his life nearly a thousand years ago?

"Of course, Mordecai. Now, it's come to my attention that there are certain things –"

"Hang on here." Beth interrupts Mick, who shoots her a warning glare.

"Nuh uh, Mick. You're telling us what happened that caused you to come home with this guy." This time it's Mick, Josef and Mort who exchange meaningful glances. Though, haha, they have to look at me to get to Mort, so I bear a good eighty percent of the glares anyway.

"He was found in a pool of biparta blood, mixed with his own." Obviously it's Mort speaking. The other two look like the two younger brothers staring at the oldest who just told Mom that they were, in fact, making mud pies, but they promise never to do it again and really Billy Watson started it because he was the one who made the first pie and then dared the three of them to make better ones, and of course they couldn't say no, so they had to start making their own.

"You mean…"

"My kind." Henry finishes for her (Vicki).

"I suspect that the biparta saw a newly turned vispus as a threat to his territory and tried to kill him, unaware of the newfound strength vispus usually gain." I can't help it; I shiver involuntarily. Once again I feel Mort make his arms tighter.

And as bizarre as it sounds, I've never felt safer. In a room with four different vampires of three different species, and I have never in my life been less afraid of being attacked. I slide further into Mort's grasp, and he obliges by adjusting his own position to accommodate me more easily.

A/N: Okay. SO! This is really just filler 'cause of I decided to stop here for tonight, but hopefully tomorrow a good amount of headway will be made (it's Saturday anywho, so I won't really have anything to do). Plus, you may or may not get a special There Are No Good Holidays In March present! Also, on a different other additional side note, here's a scene that just popped into my head in the middle of the day, which had no business being there, because these two never really converse at all, but here it is anyway:

Nik (being a possessive jackass): Get away from her. I told you. She's mine. (Johnny looks pissed an indignant)

Mort: Wait, I'm sorry. Hold on. As far as I know we aren't allowed to own people. Unless that's somehow changed since last night. Did I fall asleep for ten years again? … Because that's happened.

Other than that, if anybody has any questions or stuff they'd like to see covered, I'd love to hear about it. Add it to the big 'ol melting pot of character and plot twists, as it were. AND! Thanks for all y'alls' amazing reviews! It helps to know that people actually read what I write instead of it being sucked into the never ending vacuum that is Word. Reviews feed my plot bunnies! AHAHAHAH! See? A much better cackle. I have been practicing.


	8. Somtimes You Have To Sit On the Elephant

Disclaimer: I don't own Moonlight or Bloodties, but I did make chocolate chip cookies today! Huzzah!

Just for your information, this is a continuation of the conversation from yesterday, in which I left off in the middle. Same positions of everybody, etc. I don't feel like explaining that again.

"Well, we have to ask him some base questions, right? You know, what's your name, where do you live, do we need to alert family members –"

"Who killed you…" Josef finishes. Snarky little faerie. Yeah, haha, let's not just talk about the elephant in the room, let's sit on it and take a ride around the park, shall we?

"Hey. Blunt is my job, mister." I reply.

"So how do we go about doing that? We can't very well interrogate him in his current state." Oh, but wouldn't that be kinda funny? 'WHAT'S YOUR NAME?!' 'Ben.' 'WHERE DO YOU LIVE?' 'I…can't…please don't shout…oh my god that hurts…' 'I SAID WHERE DO YOU LIVE, SCUMMO!' (Ben falls to the floor, hands on ears, cirrhi burnt beyond recognition). Oh, that'll just work out harper-dandy, that will.

"I'll do it. I promised him I'd come back anyway. Might make him more open, speaking to someone he recognizes." I offer. And Henry's all 'WTF is she talking about' and I'm all 'I fed the newbie' and Henry's all 'how come no one told me this' and I'm all 'subtext'.

But then again, not really. In fact, the lot of them could probably smell it as soon as I came in the door, but still.

"You've done enough already." Mick tells me. Okay, wait, _excuse me_? I'm not the one who wanted to _kill_ him.

"Actually, she's right. She's had considerably…more experience with mine and Ben's species than most of you." Haha. I have the old vampire on my side. Suck it, you eighty five year old…um…guy from Los Angeles. I really need to find that dictionary. My insults are getting weaker and weaker.

I hear a very low, suppressed growl from one of them, as I'm assuming they don't like being contradicted.

"Fine. But let one of us go in there with her." Once again I feel Mort tense under me, protective of both Ben and I.

"I'm not sure that would be wise."

"If he's eaten, he'll be considerably stronger! You don't want to chance her life on the self-control of a fledgling, do you?" I glare at Mick.

"I am not one of your useless freshies, young man." Uh oh. Get back in there, Mizilca. I think a hint of British accent just slipped in.

"Young man? I'm eighty five!" But! But! Yeah, he has a point. You know, the whole lost-soul thing isn't really something you explain to a virtual stranger.

"Fine. What if I go in with Bolt?" I turn around to look at Mort, who raises his eyebrows and nods, considering.

"That could work…" Josef frowns.

"I'm sorry, but what exactly is Bolt?" Oh, I'm going to enjoy this. I have one up on him! HaHA! Not so smug are you now, huh- I should gloat after I tell him.

"He's a hellhound." Josef stares at me, as does Mick, both of their mouths open slightly, signifying the fact that their brains have temporarily shut down. Where was I?

Oh yes – Not so smug NOW, are you, you pale carnivorous faerie? _I_ have a hellhound! A PET hellhound. Well, sort of, but haha. See? I bet you thought I would have some sort of palm-sized yippy little winey…I don't know, rat terrier or something. Nope. A shiny black hellhound!

I'm sorry you had to see me like this.

XXX

"Ben?" I call softly, not wanting to disturb him. Bolt is waiting just outside, which of course means that if anything goes wrong he'll end up smashing the door, but meh. I still feel better having him there, just a whimper away. "Before you try to beat the odds, before you can survive the odds beating you." Best words of advice I've ever been given.

"Yes?" He's not looking much better, curled up in a chair, but at least he's stopped shaking.

"It's me again. It's Joanna."

"I know. I can see you." His voice is almost a whisper.

"Okay. This time I'm going to ask you a few questions, okay?" I come and sit on the bed again, right across from him.

"Okay."

"Good. So Ben, where do you come from?"

"Quebec. We moved here cause my mom got a better job." So he still lives with his parents, or at least his mother.

"That must have been stressful. So did you make any new friends, meet any one that you didn't tell your parents about?"

"You're asking if I wanted this to happen. I didn't have any choice." I suppose I was being rather obvious. But I was hoping to ask the question without actually…you know…asking it. I mean 'who killed you' is not really something you ask a perfect stranger.

"Then how did it happen?" He winces. "Why do you even want to know?"

Well, in the interest of full disclosure, I don't really see why he shouldn't know. "We want to find who did this to you." He shivers.

"Just, tell me what you remember. Okay, Ben?" I reach out and place my hand on his. He recoils from my touch. I don't care what anyone else says, he's still human deep down. Human and afraid.

"I don't want to."

"I won't use the information against you. I promise." He looks up at me, and I can clearly see that he has piercing brown eyes, not the soft, warm brown that I would have expected. Not the brown of mud or an animal's fur, but the brown of a sharp cliff face, of a rusting knife. I don't know how else to describe: clear, precise, more than is human. Then again, everything about him is quite distinctly more than human.

Wow, I'm a hypocrite. I always rant about 'looking into someone's eyes doesn't let you see their thoughts. The eyes don't work in the reverse', rah, rah, rah. Hell, man, at this point I don't care anymore.

"I don't want to remember." Oh. Well, that's a rather better excuse, isn't it? I guess this is pretty traumatic.

"Try, Ben. Please."

"Why is it so important to you to find who did this to me?" I watch him silently.

"Because he's going to do it again." He can only stare at me, dumbfounded and disbelieving. I know it's nasty and underhanded of me to appeal to what's left of his human side, but what I've told him is true. He bites his lower lip, and I see tears form in the corners of his eyes, which themselves are bloodshot. He's probably been crying this whole time, I would. He doesn't know he can trust me, or anyone around me. Just watching this sad, lonely boy reminds me of when I was almost in his shoes.

"I can…I can't remember much."

"Anything can help." I can tell he was trying to avoid it.

"I can remember…I was…I was walking, near this coffee shop, I think, and it was night. So my friend called me and I picked up the phone, and I remember noticing there was this little scratch on the phone 'cause of I'd dropped it yesterday. So I talk to my friend and then I hang up and then…" He stops talking and looks away, out the window.

"Just say it, Ben."

"I don't remember a lot. Just, he grabbed me and bit my shoulder," his hand went to his left shoulder as my hand went to mine, instinctively. "And…I just remember that it hurt a lot. He was bald, he looked really weird, I remember that much. Absolutely no hair and his skin was completely white, almost not…" _Human._

That's all I can hear. He goes on to describe how he was hurt, and how he woke up in three days inside some abandoned restaurant, only to be attacked a few hours later. But my brain subconsciously files that information away under 'Looming Problems To Deal With Once Sufficient Alcohol Is Consumed'. _Not human_. There's only one kind of vampire that can be described as not human.

The first kind.

XXX

"Mort?" I call weakly. I really, really need to see him right now, for more than one reason.

"'S okay Johnny. I heard. I think I need to explain some things to you." He's right behind me, actually, leaning up against the wall next to Bolt. Hello The Muscle.

"Okay." I walk right up to him, as close as socially possible without it being awkward. I suppose on some level I just like being near someone who can protect me from things I know nothing about. Hey, I'm realistic, I can't kill vampires. …That would be cool, though.

"Wait, you were listening?" He grins at me.

"Well, now, I couldn't trust you to remember everything, could I?" I punch him in the chest. "I hate you."

"Love you too, honey bunch." I cross my arms and glare at him, trying to keep the smile off of my face.

He's making it very hard.

Then I remember what we're talking about.

I ruin all my fun.

"What'd he mean 'not human'?" Mort shrugs.

"Well, they didn't start out as people. I mean, they did, but not really. Pure vampires, people with this sort of…weird condition, deteriorated some parts and built up others to become a different species. Then they made sure it spread. Some of those are still around." He sounds like he's talking about dinosaurs turning into birds. I'm sorry, but how did you not mention this before? No, don't you look smug you stupid life saving leechey type character.

Mnyeh.

"How is it not incredibly traumatic for you to even say that?" He stares at me for a second, almost like he doesn't understand what I'm saying.

"Clearly you only know half of it." We start walking back towards Mick's room. "If you live long enough, the past catches up to you, right?"

"Right…"

"And if you live even longer, the past finishes catching up to you and leaves you the bloody hell alone."

"So, you've already dealt with the whole traumatic sire-type-situation?" He pauses. "Yep."

"So you don't have any more big revelations to make?"

"Nope. You make all the big revelations in the first hundred years. Just cause we live long enough doesn't mean we're all the same."

"How are you not bored out of your mind?" He stops walking and I follow suit, resisting the urge to recoil backwards. He watches me, searching my face, a smile playing at his lips, daring to take over.

Then he promptly picks me up, by the waist, with one arm, and balances me against his hip.

"Because I get to annoy you." I cross my arms, trying to glare at him from the rather compromising position of Horizontal, not saying anything.

"What?"

"We are not amused."

"I see. Should I put us down?"

"We would appreciate that, yes."

XXX

Am I a terrible person for spying on Vicki and Henry?

…Yes. Yes I am.

But it's so cute!

I'm not _spying_ per se, just…pressing my ear to the door. So, eavesdropping, which isn't really better at all.

"Vicki, I don't understand why you keep on avoiding this question."

"I do."

"Would you care to share with the rest of us?" There's silence.

"I don't…I don't want to deal with this now."

"Then when?"

"Just, later, okay?"

"Vicki, you say that, but you're just going to ignore it until I have to bring it up again."

"Yeah, wonder what reason I could possibly have for avoiding this subject."

"It's not something you can ignore forever."

"But let's try, shall we?"

"Vicki."

"I don't see why this is so urgent."

"Because, you've been putting it off far too long. It's become urgent." This reminds me a bit of the conversations I'd have with my mother. You know, along the lines of 'let's talk' and 'I'm tired' then 'You're not tired you're avoiding' then 'I have a headache' then 'no you don't' followed by 'we're being attacked by mutant gorillas', you know, along those lines. Lines, lines, my whole world is lines. If it wasn't a serious conversation I'd giggle.

Vicki makes a distressed noise. "Henry, I have to go." Just barely in time, I manage to back up and make it look like I was leaning up against a wall the whooooole time. See? Now, how could I possibly have been listening if I were here? Look at me. So innocent. Me and my aquarium sweatshirt.

Has it only been one day?

She comes out of the door connecting the two rooms, arms crossed, and plops down on the couch.

"Vicki?"

"Oh, hey Johnny! So, what'd the guy have to say?" Wow, you really suck at avoiding!

"What were you two talking about?" Silence.

Because that totally means it wasn't important.

"Vicki, this is not coming out of curiosity, but because this is actually being physically detrimental to your health." She does look like, well, SHIT. Ponytail loose, eyes drooping.

She turns her head to look up at me (I'm leaning over the top of the couch).

"Was it relationship bullshit? It was, wasn't it." She nods.

"I'm going to be blunt."

"Do you function any other way?"

"Do you?"

"Point taken. Blunt away."

"It's better to just deal with it up front. That way it's over and done with, and you don't have to keep worrying about it." She's still looking at me.

"But-"

"Deal with it." She looks back down, at the floor.

"I'll figure out how to deal with it. I'll learn. To have a relationship. I will. I just don't want to now." I frown.

Putting a hand on her shoulder, I reply using my Inside Voice.

"How're you going to learn to run by standing still?" She looks up at me and glares. I shrug.

"Song lyrics. 'Lovers Prayers' by Ida." What? A rock band can't give sage advice? Hey, man, I live in a world of music. It seeps in. Seeps and seeps and poisons my innocent little mind.

"Wait, why were you even out here?" Crap. Um. I was listening to you and Henry's conversation because I don't get nearly enough drama in my day-to-day life. I look around for some excuse.

"Re…re...restocking th-the blood fridge." I indicate the Mini-Fridge-Full-'O-O-Positive. Well, I think I did throw in an extra bag or something when I came in, but it's still a lie.

"Right." She watches me carefully. "So, where's everybody else?"

"Mort's talking to the other guys."

"About…?"

"The guy doing this is, at the very least, about four thousand years old." Silence. Well, I'd be creeped out too.

"Probably one of the first."

"First-"

"Vampires. Ever." She raises her eyebrows.

"Just do me one favor."

"What?"

"Do NOT tell Coreen."

XXX

"Ms. Lovett?" Mick calls to me, coming across the courtyard, just as the first hazy rays of red light brush the rooftops. I need sleep.

"Call me Johnny."

"Johnny?" I nod. "All right, Johnny. Thank you."

"Don't read anything into it. I'm uncomfortable if anyone calls me anything else." He coughs. Yeah, you'd better feel awkward.

"I'd just like to ask you a few questions."

"Then I might have a few answers." He stares at me. Probably remembering the last time he tried to ask me a few 'questions'. It basically went:

Mick: Do you know about vampires?

Me: Yes.

Mick: How?

Me: Maaagic.

Mick: Tell me please.

Me: Bye.

So, yeah, maybe a wee bit of apprehension there. And maybe my fault. Hush, you.

This is really not the time to have A Little Priest stuck in my head.

"Do you regularly work with vampires?" No, I just normally sit on my coworkers. What do you think?

"Yes." I reply. _It's priest! Have a little priest!_

"And what, pray tell, is it that you do?" _Is it really good?_

_Sir it's too good, at least!_

"Maintenance." _Then again they don't commit sins of the flesh…so it's pretty fresh!_

"'Maintenance'?" _Awful lot of fat. _

_Only where it sat._

"Mmhm. Kind of like your 'cleaner'. Only, better funded and with less leather and dead people."_ Haven't you got poet or something like that?_ Man, I love Sweeney Todd. Sorry about this. _No you see the trouble with poet is - how do you know it's deceased? Try the priest!_

"Fewer dead people? How does that work, exactly?"

"Well, we get to them before they, you know, die. Only, we're world wide."

"And humans work on this?"

"Just me."

"How did that happen?" Oooh, that is a very, very long story, little mister.

"Suffice to say I made an impression." You know, I've never noticed how much fun it is to withhold information if you already know it yourself. Cryptic much? Yes, yes I am.

"Johnny…"

"Look, no one but me and Mort knows that. I'd like to keep it that way." It's embarrassiiiiiing! I don't wanna! He watches me for a few seconds before relenting.

"Fair enough." He gives me a little knowing smile, as if hinting that this conversation isn't over, and heads back to Beth's room.

Ooooh! Oh, trespasser! Boy in the girls' locker room! Actually, this place reminds me a bit too much of high school.

XXX

Sorry, wait, mini-thought for all y'all: Bright Eyes – Lua I know you have."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"How do you know that?"

"AND I quote: 'I've never slept in a crypt. Unless I had to.' Meaning, of course, that there were times when you had to!"

"Well, I mean, I've also slept in mud, but you never ask me about that."

"That's 'cause Dracula never slept in mud."

"You don't know that. Maybe he did and nobody ever wrote it down. There are plenty of non romantic aspects of it."

"Right, because crypt bedrooms are incredibly romantic."

"I dunno! Maybe you go for that sort of thing!" I snort. Mort and I are walking around in the back woods, behind the motel. The sun is finally rearing it's head, just above the horizon, though it's still freezing cold. I shiver and wrap my coat tighter around me.

"This is ridiculous. That thing is just a glorified sweater."

"Yes, but it's a very nice glorified sweater." Truth is, I don't think I'll ever be able to throw it away. It's a simple grey sweater, hangs down to just above my knees, buttons in the front. It's one of the few things I have left that I had before I was introduced to this up-and-down world of vampires. Yeah, you might think it's fun, try dealing with one when he's hungry.

Mort just laughs a little, Silly Little Johnny. Piff. In our walk, we've arrived at what I assume is the motel's selling point: an amazing view of the Pacific ocean. With the sun just rising, and looking west, we can't actually…see it, which I suppose ruins the whole moment. Then again, I think it's rather fitting.

I watch as waves lap the beaches, quiet and unassuming. It may be a completely different body of water, it doesn't mean that it doesn't remind of Lake Ontario. Or what happened in Lake Ontario.

I lean up against a tree, hand in my pockets, letting the wind whip my hair around my face.

It's so easy to watch the waves, to just let them happen.

I shiver as a particularly cold gust of wind hits me full force in the face, feeling goose bumps rise on my arms. I don't really care all that much.

I feel Mort put his hand on the small of my back. He's always doing things like that; little possessive contacts. He'd let me go if I wanted to go, but I don't mind that much.

Suddenly I feel him, hand on my waist, turn me to face him. Before I even realize what he's doing, and even before I think he does, I feel his mouth against mine. It's not forceful, just soft, our lips moving together once or twice.

Whoever said that vampires don't have body heat was dead wrong. He pulls away, far too soon in my opinion, and though my eyes are closed I can feel him smile against my mouth.

"Goodbye, Joanna. I'll see you later." He lets me go and I watch hazily as he jogs off back to his room, and I need to lean against the tree for support, arms wrapped around myself. This bag of butterflies in my stomach has finally been released. And this time the goose bumps on my arm aren't from the cold.

XXX

A/N: Okay, pretty much all day I was toying with the idea of adding that last bit on. I dunno. I'd love to see what anybody thinks of it (either the fact that it happened or how it was written), because if it's a bad idea I'll gladly delete it. Like it never happened, I swear. I just figured if I was going to bloody well figure out how to write stuff like that I may as well start with my own characters, right? Aaaaah, well, poo. Ulp. Here goes nothing. ::posts::

Reviews feed my little fluffy plot bunnies! Look at 'em hop-hop-hoppin' around!

The next chapter really depends on any feedback I get, 'cause I have a few ideas that I can't get to without some other stuff happening first, so anyone's ideas would be greatly appreciated!


	9. Excuse Me, But Your Teeth Are In My Neck

Disclaimer: I don't know what made me want to add this beginning bit so badly as, as of yet, it has nothing to do with the story. I just felt the urge to put it down. Reading it in my mind it seemed to work out well; so I figured, something like that is worthy of writing down before I forget it, right?

Oh, right (cough) I do not own that show or that other thing from the thing that has to do with vampires.

"It's okay, I was a World War II field medic. I know what I'm doing."

"So, what, the soldiers all got bite marksOW." I wince as he mercilessly applies the Dressing Of Doom onto my forearm. Not funny, Mick.

"You fought in World War II?" Mort is watching this, fascinated and not caring at all thatOW. That I'm in pain. Ow.

"Uh huh. When I was still human." Mick tells him. Mort watches him carefully, considering this a moment before replying.

"Thank you." He's tracing a pattern, quickly and repetitively, on his forearm: C-4208. His number at Auschwitz.

Suddenly my arm doesn't hurt so badly.

XXX

Kissing, or philematology, is a learned behavior, not an instinct. The widely accepted theory is that it originated when mothers would chew food up and pass it to their babies directly by mouth, therefore marking it as a sign of affection, which then spread.

There are other reasons, of course, such as the closeness of the two peoples' faces allows them to sniff out all of the lovely olfactory cues that can clue us in on the other's suitability for mating. For example, the woman can smell (unbeknownst to her) if her potential mate has the proper diversity of immunology for makin' babies, as it were.

And, of course, it feels good. The lips and tongue are both completely packed with nerve endings, making them extremely sensitive to having another tongue repeatedly jammed against it (ew).

Just thought I'd get that out there.

XXX

"I don't suppose you have…like, lists of all the little Count Orloff's in the area?"

"I wish, sweetie." Mort grumbles. He's fit himself rather nicely into an open window, one leg dangling down and the other bent up so that his foot touches the edge of the window, arm draped across one knee. He watches the waves lap the beach, and I can't help but wonder what he's thinking about.

"Mort. The world needs you. Neverland does not." He snaps back to attention, then looks at me.

"Hem. Sorry. Knew that."

"No, you didn't."

"Okay." Wow, you're compliant today.

"So how do you propose we find him?" He watches me absently, head lolling against the window's edge.

"I dunno. Ask Henry or someone." Well, jeez, no need to be pissy you big ol' prick. I get up from my lounging in a chair and lean against the wall touching the window, opposite his head. My face is turned to the side so as to make better eye contact.

"Is something wrong?" He looks out the window again. Is it terribly shallow of me to notice how amazing he looks, lit up by the setting sun? It is shallow, isn't it.

"No, Johnny. Nothing's wrong." His voice is very quiet.

Seemingly on an impulse, he leaps off the window and moves towards me, wrapping me in a bear hug.

"Moaht?" My voice is extremely muffled, being as I'm slowly being choked to death in his chest and all.

"Mm?" He replies absently.

"Wftat roh oo oing?" Translation: what are you doing? Because, well, that's pretty hard to understand.

"Making up for four hundred years of lost time, Miz." He whispers. Oh, come ON. I am so not comfortable with emotions right now. Buddy. Time to…time to let go. Mort. MORDECAI. This is so not funny.

Okay, he's just been doing it so long to bug me. He so is.

When he releases me, I see the telltale smirk signifying that he, too, knew that that went on faaaar too long.

"You," I poke him in his stupid hard chest (fucking vampires and their fucking muscles). "Are a very bad person."

"Ah, I am a very bad vampire." He corrects. I stick my tongue out.

I am Johnny. Hear me roar.

XXX

You know, the thing that sucks about real life is that you can't fast forward past the mundane bits. In books, a morning routine passes by in all of, what, a sentence? 'She showered and went downstairs after preparing herself for the day.' See? Now, that probably took 'her' about half an hour to forty-five minutes, but you don't register that unless in the shower she had a nervous breakdown and started crying or imagining being felt up by some new love interest or other some such disgusting things.

So I can't just flick away my sleep with 'she slept through the night fitfully'. Nope. I actually have to sleep through the night fitfully.

This is lovely fun.

I wish I could just pass this on by, skip to the next interesting bit in my life that will make a good addition to a story.

Like, say, Mort kissing me again. That'd be nice. Just saying. Wish I could fast forward to that happening again. Assuming it will.

I have to fight the urge to go and see him in his room, like he did me the first night we came here. I know it'd be unhealthy, seeing as, well, it just wouldn't be a good idea. Waaaay too many issues.

Thank you for that Nikolai, by the way. Humph.

But this irritatingly large part of me just wants to see him, to make sure he still wants to see me.

I roll over in the bed, and my thoughts follow suit. Now let's touch on the subject I've been avoiding, eh?

Josef. Ack-hem. Notice any similarities there? No, of course you don't, silly little girl. Don't even think it. Nuh-uh.

_Just like Nik, isn't he?_

Not even close, actually, but thanks for that.

_Well, before, when you met him…_

I'm sorry, VoR, could you specify who 'him' is?

_Nik, 'him' is Nik, love. And when you first met him, well, it was rather similar to when you met-_

Shut up. Don't say it.

_I don't have to. I'm you. You know what I'm…you're thinking…um._

Why do you do this to me?

_Ah, you see, I'm the part of your brain that makes sure you get what you want._

…You're going to tell me to kill people, aren't you?

_No. I'm your base instinct, you idiot._

You're pretty well-versed for base instinct.

_Why, thank you._

Didn't I just compliment myself?

_Yes._

I really need to get a grip.

_That's why I'm here, love._

Yeah, because this is helping.

"Hello, Joanna." Speak of the devil. Speaking of which, have you ever noticed that live backwards is evil? Ominous, isn't it.

I don't bother to turn around.

Except for, then I do, and see Josef perched on one elbow (above the covers, thankfully). Also dressed in full business attire.

…Why, exactly, I don't know. Suspenders, dude. Hot.

Is anyone else noticing the disturbing habit that vampires have of bursting my personal bubble?

Because I am. I'm not really enjoying it.

"Why are you here?" He quirks an eyebrow. Buddy, my heart rate may not show it, but I am getting steadily more and more pissed off at you.

"Well, I was thinking…"

"That's a change of pace." He just continues to smirk, but otherwise ignores me.

"All the other vamps got to bring their own live food. But I didn't have anyone I was 'emotionally' connected too" – he scoffs here, like being emotionally connected to a human is ridiculous – "So I don't get any live food."

"Excuse me, I am not food."

"Those marks on your shoulder tell me something else." I stare at him for a moment. My menacing glare, however, is undercut by the fact that I'm snuggled rather tightly in my blankets looking like a small child who's just been tucked in.

"It was a favor."

"For a…friend?" He asks, clearly disbelieving.

"That's not the first word that comes to mind, no." Mm. No first word really comes to mind when I think about him. More…a feeling. A tug. Pain.

Pain is the first word that comes to mind. His or mine, I don't know. I wouldn't know.

"I'm not sure I like where your point is headed, Mr. Josef."

"'Mr. Josef'?"

"I said it like that on purpose." Is it wrong that a small part of me really, desperately wants to go 'my vampire is older than yours iiiis!'? Just once.

"My point is headed, Ms. Joanna, directly for you."

"Why, exactly?"

"He's never fed from you."

"I'm sorry, could you specify who 'he' is? Because plenty of 'he's have eaten me in the past." He winces, just a bit, at my tactless use of the word 'eaten' instead of 'fed'. I was anticipating that. It like being crude when it suits me, even more so when it doesn't suit the people around me.

"More than one that I've met?"

"Probably."

"Just how many should I be worrying about?"

"Zero. It's not your place to worry." Or your privilege, so back off. It's bad enough having one overprotective tick trying to put me in a lead box. I don't need a possessive and/or jealous one.

"But he has no claim on you."

"No shit. I'm not a squeaky toy." He chuckles. I don't see how that was funny. "If you think that just because someone else won't object to it that I won't, I swear I'll stake you with a pencil."

"That I'd like to see." Now it's my turn to raise one eyebrow.

"You think I never have before?"

"Hm." His eyes take on a predatory stare. Not sharpened silver, still brown, but with that same sharp edge I've seen before when they're right on the line, in Ben and, before that, Nik.

"Have you ever tried to hurt someone because they made you angry?" My voice is almost a whisper.

"Yes." His answer is simple and without thought. And I hate that I'm not frightened, even slightly. Not anymore.

_Just like him…_

For once, I'm inclined to consciously agree with myself.

I feel my eyes grow hot, almost electric, a telltale lump in my throat threatened to choke the tears out of my face if I don't let them fall.

"Did I upset you?" I snort.

"You wish." Though I pull the blankets tighter around myself, more to separate us further than because I'm cold.

"You know…you are a very hard person to find things out about."

"Yep."

"Beyond the ordinary, that is."

"Well, I'll give you a hint: my favorite color is grey."

"If I were to go by your government records, you would be the dullest person in the world."

"When, in fact, I'm actually only the fourth dullest."

"You're baiting me."

"Good job." We glare at each other for a few moments.

"I'm not letting you suck my blood."

"I wasn't planning on asking permission."

"Do you even remember the fact that I have a hellhound at my beck and call?" He tilts his head slyly, and I can't say I like the way he's looking at me the way I remember looking at an ice cream sundae after a two hour long soccer game (I was seven at the time). Yes, I played soccer. What's your point? It's not like that takes away from all my mystique. I'd like to think that I'm very low in mystique. Do I keep any secrets from you? Naw, of course not. Mystique my pale bent little toe.

"I never said I'd take it against your will."

"I don't like what you're insinuating."

"I do."

"Go hit on the freezer."

"I don't like processed blood!"

"So, what, you came in here hoping for the bar to be open?"

"Not in so many words."

"Ha." What happened to the snark? I thought he was snarky. Evidently I was wrong.

"You can't possibly expect me to go without for nearly a month."

"I can and I will, young man." He waggles his eyebrows pointedly.

"Young man?" Well, technically I am about his age, depending on your interpretation.

"Don't ask." Being that you won't believe that I'm the reincarnated soul of a merchant's daughter from four hundred years ago. Did I say that out loud? Heh. Didn't see that coming, DID you conscious thought bubble?

Why am I asking you, conscious thought bubble? You already knew. Well, can't do any bad reminding you. Me.

Oh, crap, I'm doing it again.

"Well, Joanna."

"Well, Josef."

"If you're sure you're not willing…"

"Fuck off." Yes, it sounds menacing, but I say it with an exhausted flourish while closing my eyes and settling myself further into my nest.

I'm not sure if he leaves or not, as clearly they can hold extremely still when and if they want to, but at this point I don't care. If he wants to give me crap tomorrow about 'you're beautiful when you sleep' or 'you snore' then let him. I'm just indifferent now.

I just want to sleep without thinking about tomorrow.

XXX

Evidently he didn't leave because I wake up on his arm, of all places. Before even opening my eyes, my nose wrinkles itself out of disgust at the smell. He smells…it's like a mixture of cologne and oatmeal, if that makes any sense. Sharp and offensive.

Definitely not like soap and old paper.

"Did you watch me sleep?" He's still in the same position as last night, which must be hideously uncomfortable.

"Not really."

"Right. You just, didn't move, all night. Because you felt like it."

"Don't be so narcissistic."

"Did you try to eat me while I was asleep?"

"Trust me. If I'd fed off of you, you would have known." Oh, get OVER yourself.

"So, what'd you do?"

"You smell like fear when you sleep."

"That's a lie." He frowns, and I know that I'm right. He was hoping to touch on a base emotion, elicit a response from me, 'connect' with me, or maybe just plain scare me. Regardless, he wasn't hoping I'd see through his bullshit.

I crawl out of my covers, wrapping one of the blankets around myself. This is one of those moments I thank God for never wearing cutesy pajamas, lacey pajamas, or even anything that a normal girl would wear. Nope, it's my pickle shirt and…um…Mort's grey sweatpants. Cough. Don't tell him.

I put my hands on either side of his stone cold face, and he looks curious to see where I'm going with this.

"For the sake of your reputation and whatever remnants of dignity you have left, I'm going to pretend that you were never here." Just to mess with him I plant a kiss on his forehead, like a mother would to her sick child.

"Go take a shower."

A/N: Wow, this chapter was the very definition of slow and pointless. Sorry. I promise, the next one will be better, just take longer. Hear me now: I have a LOT of, well, bullshit to figure out story-wise, which may take some time. Mainly being that I have…no…ideas…um. Well, here's hoping!

And, on a side note: I just now noticed that my big ol' convict cichlid is also named Mort (short for Mortimer Beckett). So…that's a creepy coincidence. Especially considering that fish Mort is white. OOP.

Reviews are the staple of a plot bunny's diet, however these rare gems only come along every once in a while, and are therefore greatly appreciated by the plot bunnies and their owners. Pretty please? (!!!!!!)


	10. Magically Delicious

Disclaimer: Are you ready for some unrequited love bullshit?!?! I said _are you ready for some unrequited bullshit!! _What's that?! Louder, pansies! Louder! I CAN'T HEEEEAAAAAR YOOOOUUUUU!!

I…I am so sorry. You have no idea. (but, not sorry enough to delete that). Today is your There Are No Good Holidays In March present, for those of you who are interested. Well, sort of. I really don't know what people want to see. Oop.

I suppose today would be defined as a 'nothing' day. Mort says he's going to…well, I wasn't listening, but he's doing something that doesn't really require me.

So the nothingness of this day is yet one more reason to use it for sweet, sweet payback. Oh, you thought I'd just let last night go? Clearly, you don't know me well enough.

But not yet.

So in my utter boredom, I decide to go and talk to whoever I see next.

And the lucky winner is…Beth!

"Hey," I come up behind her. She's doing some highlighting on what looks like a research paper, presumably for some new article she's working on.

"Hey," she replies absently.

XXX

"My thing is so cooler than your thing."

"Is not. My thing, like, trumps all things."

"Not my thing."

"Liar."

"How can you call me a liar if you don't even know what my thing is?" Beth asks, waving the drink in her hand around in a way that I can't say isn't worrying to me.

"I bet I know what your thing is."

"Nope."

"I bet I can guess, though." We've somehow migrated, in the last hour, physically to a balcony overlooking the Pacific and conversationally to weird supernatural things that most people haven't experienced.

"There's no way you can guess." She tells me, setting the drink back and kicking her feet up on the balcony.

"I can. Give me a hint!" She snorts and gives me a sidelong glance.

"If I gave you a hint that would defeat the purpose of you guessing!"

"Would not."

"Fine, only if you give me a hint."

"You never said you were guessing!"

"I'm saying it now, Johnny."

"Fine. You first, though." Ha. You know, while this is fun, I can't help but wonder when my lovely little plan will take affect.

"Well, fine! Um…"

"Come on."

"I'm trying to think of something that isn't cryptic or obvious."

"Hard, isn't it?"

"'Kay, it…uh…has to do with Mick." Really. Wouldn't have guessed. I mean, really. It has to do with your hunk-a-chunk-a-lonely-puppy dog Mick, does it? Because I would have assumed it was, like, ANYONE ELSE ON THE PLANET.

"That doesn't count."

"How does that not count?"

"You said, 'not cryptic'."

"I'm sorry, how is that cryptic?"

"It's like saying 'I know something about the government and it has something to do with the legislative branch'."

"Okay, Mick is not a branch of vampirism." But he's a rather large branch of happenings in your life, hon. Don't deny it.

"Better hint."

"Fine, it has to do with when I was four." Ready for my guess? When she was four she was somehow in peril, Mighty Mick saved her, and has somehow kept in contact with her since then. Even if not to her knowledge (because if she'd KNOWN about the guy who should have been sixty when she next saw him, she wouldn't be able to flirt!).

"Okay, I think-"

"Nuh uh. You give me a hint now."

"Um." I see what her problem was: either 'I'm over four hundred years old', which is rather obvious, or some such 'I'm mature for twenty eight' or 'I'm an old soul' vague-ness. I can't mention Buddhist beliefs, can I? Not really, no. I suppose there's always the mention of fate, but that might bring up the subject of soul mates (one word: UGH.) I have a pretty pessimistic view of soul mates: maybe the world started out with a perfect set of soul mates. Chances are, however, that not every one found their own soul mate and settled for Bob On The Other Side Of the Fence, Who's Pretty Nice Looking And Has A Decent Sense Of Humor. Therefore, they did not produce another perfect soul mate, meaning that their child does not have a perfect match. And of course, from there things only got worse, meaning that by now there are so many soul-mate-mutts that you'd be pretty well off settling for Bob On The Other Side Of the Fence. Even Vinny From The Pizza Place Who Has A Cute Smile.

That is, if soul mates ever even existed in the first place.

You see what I mean? Pessimistic. Aren't you horribly depressed? Imagine realizing that on your own. I was all like 'Haw-phooey!'. Just, not in so many words.

Oh, crap, the real world's still here.

"I met someone I had no right meeting twice, under completely bizarre circumstances." Beth just eyes me rather specifically.

"What?"

"And you ragged on me for being vague." She smiles and crosses her legs, which are still propped up on the balcony. I mimic her position, leaning back in my chair further.

"Fine. Uh…the first time was an exceedingly long time ago."

"Like, what, in the two years you were alive that I wasn't?" No, no, not really. Well, maybe, but I don't remember that.

"No. I mean, maybe."

"You're headed straight for a new nickname, Johnny." NO! God forbid!

"Fine. My thing goes back waaaay farther than yours. Ha."

"What, you're telling me you're immortal?" The mood in the air changes when I don't answer, Beth watching me intently. I can feel her gaze of the back of my neck even though I turn my head away.

It's not that I am immortal…not to my knowledge. I could be. As far as I know this is the first time I've been reincarnated, but that doesn't mean it won't happen again. Then there's the whole aging thing.

I have way too many things.

"Nope." She knows enough to leave it at that.

The playful mood of the conversation has been ruined and we both know it, neither one willing to offer up a new topic. Luckily one is about to come bounding through the door with files in hand.

"Hello, ladies, Johnny."

"Haha." I look back so far that my face is upside-down on the other side of the chair so that I can stick my tongue out at Mort. He just bounces his eyebrows and shakes the files at me.

"I'll…um…you guys need to work. I'll get out of your hair. Sorry." Beth makes excuses to leave as quickly as possible.

"No, it's fine, there's no reason why you shouldn't be here." Mort! Ewe Jee Aych. She's trying to politely get her tiny little reporter ass out of here while the window's open.

"Actually, Beth, could you bring Ben some bagged blood? Just tell him to bite it like he would skin. Time to wean him and all." She smiles at me with a certain level of gratitude.

"And could you give this to Josef?" I walk over to the fridge and take out another bag of blood. She looks marginally confused in my direction, so I explain myself.

"Just a blood type he requested." No, it's not mine, don't even let the thought cross your mind. Though I had half a mind to give him a bag of his own blood. She nods and makes for the door.

Mort gives me a Look, which I know I'm going to need to explain eventually. I just give him a Look of my very own and perch myself on the edge of the kitchen table. In front of the fridge, covered in magnets. See where I'm headed with this?

"Come on. What'ya got?"

"Why do you assume I have something?"

"Right, because you always carry files around. For fun." He takes on a stand that can only be described as Zorro! with a flourish (!), narrowing his eyes in mock-drama.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Joanna."

"There's also a lot I do know about you. So, come on, do it." He un-Zorros, though his dramatic stance has kind of skewed his shirt to the side so that one of his shoulders is a little exposed and the other one is covered up more that intended by the shirt's makers.

"Do what?"

"You know, the thing." – see, there's another one of those things – "The…the files and vampires and profiling thing."

"Ah, that thing."

"Yeah, that thing." He just smirks and shakes his head a little. He tips the file upside down so that a sheaf of papers falls out, tacking a few up on the fridge with the magnets.

"I got some stuff on Ben." I can see you got some stuff on Ben. You got quite a lot of stuff on Ben. Lookey there. Ben's address, phone, known haunts, last place he was seen, filed missing persons case…

I let out a low whistle. "What is the point of all this?"

"Well, if he got attacked here…" He takes an invisible marker and makes to circle a spot on the map which he forgot to put up.

"Um."

"In your hand." He looks at his hand, in which is a map of the greater Vancouver area, and then sticks it up on the fridge. This is the weirdest fridge art in the great and famous history of fridge art.

"Right. So, here." He points to the not-so-seedy part of town. Not the rich-n-snobby end, just not the one where a mugging isn't something you report to the police, it's something to be ashamed of.

"So he parties and gets…down wif it (um) gets grabbed by a creepy guy in an alley-"

"Meaning that likely the creepy guy in an alley wasn't looking for Ben specifically, more waiting for someone suitable to pass by."

"So we have to…what?" He looks at me.

"I know you're not that stupid."

"Yes, but I am full of futile hope."

"We have to find all possible similar locations based on the point of view of the perpetrator and monitor the most likely candidates."

"Meaning we have to go to, like, four clubs in one night."

"Yep."

"Shit." I rock back and forth on the table, which gets his attention.

"Cheer up, lovey." He mock-punches me on the chin.

"You know how to cheer me up."

"What are you talking about?" Now, I know he'll know this even if Vicki didn't.

"Seems a downright shame."

"No."

"Seems an awful waste…

Such a nice plump frame-"

"Nope. If we're doing this, we're not doing that song."

"Aw, come ON!" He grins at me and shakes his head.

"Please?"

"No."

"Then what to you propose?" He takes a few steps back and places his hand on his chest, pretending to look all innocent and sweet.

"I feeeeeeeel yooouu, Joaaaannaaa! I feeeeeel yoooouuu!" You wouldn't. He wouldn't.

"I was half convinced I'd waken, satisfied enough to dream you!" He so would.

"I will hit you." His voice has taken on the tone of an overdone opera singer, thick and heavy.

"Happily I was mistaken, Joaaaaaaannnaaaaa!"

"I hate you."

"I'll steeeeeaaaal yoooouuu, Joaaaaaaannaaaa!"

"Mort. You know what I'm capable of." He pauses his serenade.

"You asked for it." I did, that's true.

"Do they think that walls can hide you, even now I'm at your window, I am in the dark beside you…." He continues, though his voice tremors with controlled laughter.

"Aren't you a little disturbed by what that suggests?"

"Buried sweetly in your yellow hair!"

"I don't have yellow hair." Oh, but he's intent on making me miserable. He sweeps grandly over to the table, picking me up by the waist –

Which itself is a violation of all my no-touchey rules.

And swinging me around the room like I weigh no more than a doll, grinning and singing the whole while. I, however, am pouting like Oscar the Grouch.

"I feel you! Joanna!"

"You're gonna feel a lot more than that if you don't put me down."

"And one day I'll steeeeeeaaal you!" He spins around, still holding me up by the waist, and places me on the kitchen counter so the our faces are level.

More than level, in fact, they're only inches apart. Any sarcastic remarks residing in my mind are now vacationing somewhere in the Caribbean.

From here I can smell him quite strongly, the smell of soap and old paper, and this close there are undertones of…something else, something nameless. Not sunshine, exactly, more the sort of smell that comes with a spring day – wet and new.

Once again I can feel the butterflies, a feeling of anticipation flooding my body via my stomach, because he still hasn't moved farther away. His hands are braced on either side of me, between my arms and body.

And despite myself I feel my heart beat in my ears as we search each other's faces with our eyes, for signs of acceptance, similar thoughts.

And even faster still as, still locked eyes with me, he moves closer. It's almost like curiosity, mingled with a familiarity that few people can achieve in one lifetime. His face is so close to mine, I can almost feel him, closing my eyes and finally relenting, leaning into him -

And he backs away. Zips away, really, in a matter of milliseconds he's leaning against the table, arms folded, surveying the map. I could almost kill him.

Until, that is, Josef opens the door with a half-empty bag of blood and a rather amused smile on his face.

"Why, hello, guys. Fellas. And…you. Jo…Jo? Can I call you Jo?" He giggles.

Oh my. It worked.

Mort looks at me, mouth very slightly agape.

"Joanna…what did you do?" I cock my head to the side innocently.

"What do you mean, me? Why do you assume I did something?"

"Johnny…" I bite my lower lip, teasing.

"Morty…" He glares.

"What did you do?"

"Oh, why do you always blame me?"

"What. Did. You. Do." Josef's shoulders shake with silent laughter.

"Yeah, Jojo, what'd you do? Did you do something? I bet you did something. I bet you did something _bad_. Like, um…did you take the cookies from the cookie jar?" He seems to find this immensely funny, as he's doubled over with laughter, making a choking sound. He slaps his thigh a few times, with the hand holding the blood, which he seems to remember he has, taking another swig.

We both ignore this. "I did nothing."

"Define 'nothing'." I purse my lips in an effort to hide my guilty, yet extremely satisfied, grin.

"I made his blood –" He stares at me

"You didn't…".

"Magically delicious!" His jaw and his skull have evidently completely separated as they are having a hard time touching.

Josef burps, and with this charming sound wafts the scent of…

Pure alcohol. With a little bit of peppermint schnapps. Just to give him that minty-fresh scent.

I giggle a little bit. Which Josef takes as his cue to burst into another bout of laughter.

"Okay, you have to admit, I never did _that_." Mort points at this spectacle.

"Oh no, lovey, you were worse. Much worse." He cocks an eyebrow. "Though I'm still willing to see if he'll react the same way you did to…."

"JOHNNY!" He screeches when I draw one of those grab-pack things of Lucky Charms out of my pocket. Yes, Josef, you'll pay.

Oh you will pay.

"Hey Josef?" I call to him sweetly. He looks up and seems to notice me for the first time again.

"HI!" He bounds over to me and claps his hand on my shoulder.

"I…I have been meaning to say…that…you…"

"Yes?"

"You smell like cocoa." Well, I'm not really sure how to take that. He holds up his fore finger and thumb, about an inch apart.

"Just…just a…just a lil' bit."

"That's nice, Josef." He points, rather drunkenly, to the cereal.

"What's that?" Mort gives me a warning glare which I choose to ignore.

"Johnny…" He begins. He thinks better of the question when I waggle my eyebrows at him conspiratorially.

"You didn't…to me, too, did you?" I don't answer. He hurriedly swipes up his glass and takes a few long, good whiffs.

"No. No way I'm doing that again. Definitely not after the way you reacted to it for the next few days."

"Then why'd you do it to him?" Josef giggles again and swings his arm around my shoulder.

"Cause we're buddies. Right, Jojo?"

"Yes, Josef, that's why. Because we're _friends_." He grins at me and shakes my shoulders a little with his arm.

"Here, Josef, I have a present for you!"

"What?" He looks pretty excited. Oh you sad, sad little man. This, this is why you do not mess with Joanna Lovett.

"I got you some Lucky Charms."

"Joanna!" Mort says sternly, though I can see a smile begin to play with his lips.

"It's an experiment! I can't have only one test subject." I gesture towards him, then Josef. Who, by the way, is holding the box of cereal and looking at it rather eagerly.

"Here…" I open it for him and pour a little into his hand.

"Wow. It's got a lot of…colors." He says absently, staring at the green clover or whatever in his hand.

"Yes it does. It's fun, isn't it?" Josef grins and looks up at me, then back at the Lucky Charms.

"They're Magic… magic…magically delicious!" He reads from the top.

"Yes they are." He shakes out a few more, picking out all the marshmallows.

"Look! This one's shaped like a star."

"That's nice."

"And this one is like a balloon."

"It is indeed."

"They want to be friends."

A/N: Hear this now: "Magically delicious" is now the official inside joke of this story. Say it to your friends and giggle to yourself, content in the knowledge that the same is being done nationwide. GO, MY MINIONS!

…I need minions. And a syringe to deflate my head.

I believe there may be a little more drunk Josef, followed by hung-over and pissed Josef, on the Josef agenda for those of you who are curious (obviously, other stuff will happen in between). Reviews feed the plot bunnies!

And, anyone's thoughts here would be appreciated, obviously. Also, this is me begging you for plot bunny feed. See? Begging. I don't know why I liked this chapter so much with the exception of the foreshadowing…sorry. All done now. Blah, blah, point out syntax errors, et cetera.

Yes, I know, it wasn't that funny. It was funnier in my mind.


	11. At Least The Snails Didn't Do Anything

Disclaimer: I don't own _shit_.

"Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines." – John Benfield

Vampires don't get hangovers. Well, not the traditional, This Is My Body's Way Of Getting Back At Me hangovers. A vampire's body does not accept most substances other than blood, though when things are mixed with blood it will extract the hemoglobin before violently extracting the foreign substances from the body.

Believe you me, it sucks way more than a human hang over.

I've only ever seen one 'hung-over' vampire, Mort, and he described it as, other than of course the overlapping and constant fireworks in your head, similar to the affect of not only sticking your head in a land mine, but of stuffing your head full of snails, sticking it in a landmine, seeing how many swords you can fit into it, figuring out how many different places you can bash your skull in with a mace, then letting a punch of pike cichlids (genus _Crenicichla_) eat the snails. And that's not even mentioning the stomach.

THAT is a vampire hangover.

Why was Mort hung over, you ask? For the same reason Josef will be soon. Well, a slightly different reason, but suffice to say I did it. I didn't actually know what was going to happen to him, if I had I wouldn't have tried it. I just figured he'd act like an idiot and have a headache the next day.

"Okay, I never did that. I may not remember much but I never did _that_." Both of us are sitting on the couch, watching Josef contentedly play with all of the Lucky Charms marshmallows that he's picked out of the cereal.

Remember when you were little, and you'd pick out the toy from the cereal box and play with it to no end? Then you'd get more than one, and you'd give them names and have them talk to each other and become friends or girlfriend/boyfriend, and then they'd go on bizarre and questionable adventures…

Yeah, that's pretty much what's happening.

Only with marshmallows.

Now, while I'd like to lie and tell you that this is the true Josef shining through, almost the exact same thing happened to Mort when I got him piss-drunk. He just found some stale cereal and started playing with it. Luckily I was the only witness. Must be a vampire thing.

It's still funny as hell, though.

"We have to get to the top of the mountain to save the pot of gold!" He screeches in falsetto, wiggling some type of blue charm in time with his syllables. He's put a pot of gold on top of a book. That's the mountain, you see.

"That's it. I'm getting Mick."

"Oh Johnny, hasn't he suffered enough?"

"Consider it a warning for next time."

"You are a cruel woman."

"But you love me anyways." I pat him on the head and head for the door. No mercy. This is going to pay for every thing he has and will ever do. Muahahaha! Much better.

"Hey, Mick?" I shout. He's leaning down, scratching Bolt behind the ears, when he looks up.

"Yes?" I decide to play innocent little messenger.

"You know your friend? Josef?" He looks considerably more interested, or concerned, rather.

"What about him?"

"I think…I think something is wrong with him."

"Wrong how?" I bite my lower lip. Wrong with him? Shit yes, something's wrong with him.

"He's…um…he's acting kind of funny."

"What do you mean, 'funny'?"

"Maybe you should come and see."

XXX

Five hours later Josef wakes up in his freezer to three smiling faces.

"He's awake!"

"Does he look angry?"

"He looks more dead than he usually does."

"He looks more pale than usual."

"How pale does he usually look?"

"Very."

"He's going to kill you."

"No he won't."

"He'll try, though."

"Probably, yeah, he will try."

The lid creaks open slightly and he's grimacing. It's a bizarre sight: a young man in full business attire creaking open the lid of his 21st century freezer. Now _that's_ how they should have done Dracula.

"What…happened…to me?" His voice is whisper-soft, I can barely hear it. To him it must be achingly loud, because he winces.

No one is willing to answer. 'Cept for me.

"I got you drunk." I whisper-shout. He glares at me through eye slits and sits up, propping himself on his elbows.

"Yes. I got that." He looks at Mick and Mort. Mort looks deadly serious, seeing as how he was in a similar situation a few months prior, but Mick is trying not to laugh.

He came in for the last hour or so of traipsing up the magical mountain to rescue the pot of gold. As he told me while we watched, he'd never seen his friend "have so much…fun."

"Mick."

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Could you two please leave the room? Joanna and I need to have a…chat." Mort coughs. Once. Twice.

We make eye contact and no words are necessary. _If he screams I'm coming back in._

I raise my eyebrows and hold my hands up. Who, me? What could I do that I haven't already done?

"Joanna."

"Josef."

"You've done something to me that no one else has even thought of before. To a certain degree I admire that." I grin.

"Admit it. You haven't been drunk in centuries. You enjoyed it." He opens one eye.

"I haven't had more fun since I got my hoop and stick." He answers dryly. I perch myself on the edge of his freezer.

"Man, you got a hoop and stick? All I had was some lame cornhusk doll. And I had to make it myself." He smiles.

"Yeah, all the girls had cornhusk dolls…wait, what?" I smile at him fiendishly.

"You, my dear, are most definitely not four hundred years old."

"Not on the outside." I quirk my eyebrow conspiratorially. He opens his eyes fully and winces, even though no lights are even on.

He shrugs. "Cornhusk doll, huh?"

"Yeah. With button eyes."

"Yeah, they all had button eyes."

XXX

For a reason which I can't figure out, Josef's not pressing me on why I know the details of life in the seventeenth century for upper middle classmen. The details of the life, though, he's pretty interested in. Kindred soul and all that. …In more ways than one.

"No."

"Look, I know what I'm doing." Mick scowls.

"You're a PI. That doesn't make you smarter than me."

"I've been a PI for over fifty years!"

"Do you work for the scary vampire government?"

"The whatnow?"

"Special training, bud."

"What is the vampire government?"

"The _scary_ vampire government. And, I'm not allowed to tell you more than that, and that club doesn't work."

"Why doesn't it work? It's dark, surrounded by alleyways in a shadier part of town, lots of young people –"

"And way too predictable for a vampire of this one's age to even bother with." Mick snorts and throws that one in the trash.

"Shouldn't your friend be helping us?"

"He's giving Ben the talk."

"Talk?"

"You know, the vispus talk." Shouldn't that be a song? What? What? The vispus talk! You heard me fo'! The vispus talk, uh-huh uh-huh!

"I don't know."

"Explaining all the cool stuff they can do and can't do. And how not to die."

"I can see how that would be useful."

"Well, yeah. That's why he's not here."

"And why I am?" I look at him.

"Nop. You're here because I asked for you to be here." And, well, because Mort's not here. Come on! You couldn't have expected me to go through all the clubs alone. That is totally unfair. This stack is nearly a foot high.

I bet that in total Pollox's company has probably killed like five percent of old growth forest.

"How about this one then?"

"What about it?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Too…clubby." He looks extremely irritated.

"Too 'clubby'? Are you just trying to contradict me for fun?"

"Fine, add it to the pile." He does, if grudgingly.

XXX

When we finish, we (Mick and I, and, after a bit of pushing, Beth and Vicki and Henry) have whittled it down to only four clubs that we'll check out. I, for one, had no idea that Vancouver had so many Goths and hipsters. What the hell?! Go back to California where you belong!

Mort and I split up the group: Me, Josef, and Henry (what?!?!) and Mort, Beth, Vicki and Mick. I feel like I did when in middle school the teacher would pick groups for us and I somehow got stuck with the losers. You know, the people you never got along with. And now, you have to demonstrate the water cycle with them.

"Listen carefully." I've put them in a line…of two people (sigh), walking back and forth in front of them while I talk. We're standing outside a club, Dark Fury (again, what?!), and I'm briefing them on what, exactly, it is that they're doing. Or, not doing.

I stop in front of Henry. "You do not flirt. You do not talk, you do not banter, you do not make meaningful eye contact with anyone but the other two in the group." I look at Josef.

"And even then, nothing remotely sexual."

"I won't be making that mistake again."

"Hey, you mess with the bull." I hold up the horns. Then I turn back and address the both of them.

"You do not suck blood. You do not make contact with women beyond what is absolutely necessary –" I glare at the both of them. "And you do not sink your teeth into their necks, arms, or any part of the anatomy. You don't buy drinks for people, you do not dance, you do not even nod your head to the music." I stand in front of them, hands behind my back. I'm rather enjoying this. I feel like an army general or something. Plus, I think Josef's a little afraid of me. Yeah, you'd better be. I have more methods of torture where that came from.

"You look for suspicious characters and those likely to be targeted – underage males." I don't add that they're likely to be white. The innocent young turnies are always white. So says the man. The man being Mort.

"If you see someone in or near the club that you think might seriously be in danger, find me. Other than that, both of you, go fuck off." Henry's eyebrows are raised, moderately surprised.

I walk off briskly, more intent on getting away from those stares they were giving me than actually getting to work.

I'm pretty sure I hear Josef lean over to Henry, though, and mutter: "Is it just me, or did she just become like fifty percent hotter?" I hear a chortle of agreement from Henry.

I will never, never understand the male psyche.

"They're right. That was kind of hot." Mort whispers in my ear. Via an ear bug, he's not actually right next to my ear.

"You are not funny." I mutter back to him.

"Who says I was joking?"

"You want me to get you drunk again?"

"You wouldn't."

XXX

Did I mention that I hate clubs? Social scenes, in general, which I do not fit into? Even the ones that are pretty much made up of people who do not fit into social scenes. I just end up being miserable in a corner.

But it's a nice corner. It has a chair. The chair is black. I like black chairs. This is okay.

I fucking hate clubs.

I watch the crowd, but so far all I see are twenty-something guys dancing way too close to scantily clad twenty-something girls in a rather…uh…::erhem:: conspicuous way, shall we say? Point being there's nothing here that –

Is that 'My Immortal'?

Oh, I so fucking hate clubs.

Nothing here that could attract our predator. In fact, they have the magical power of Evanescence to drive him away. Shudder.

"Are you guys done? I'd like to leave. I've had enough humanity for tonight." I whisper.

Suddenly, Henry is behind me.

"But we were just starting to have _fun_."

"Hey! I said no fun!"

"There were a few young guys here, but we used personal judgment and determined that they aren't in immediate danger."

"Define 'personal judgment'."

"Gothic and unappealing to and actual night walker." I ignore 'night walker'. If that's what he wants to call himself, fine. But there are other nocturnal bipeds. Just so you know.

"Fair enough. Let's go."

"Do we have to?"

"Yes."

"Now?"

"Are you five years old?" I glance at him before hurrying out of the club. Well, trying to. Thing is, and I don't know if you know this, but in Vancouver…in March…it's…cold. Outside. Very cold. Which, coincidentally, means I need a coat. Whoopsie.

I do a double take and back up, making for the coat room. Who knew that Goth clubs had coat rooms? I didn't.

Luckily, grey wool stands out rather a lot amongst leather and strappy, spiky things, so I didn't have much trouble finding my coat. However, in retrieving it I did get pricked a few times.

I'm sorry, but who puts spikes on a puffy winter coat? That is just creepy.

"Joanna. What a surprise." I freeze. This needs to stop happening.

"Shepp?"

"You might be able to confirm that if you turned around, dear."

"Schrödinger's Cat. If I don't turn around I don't need to know if it's you."

I feel a freezing cold hand on my arm, forcibly turning me. Well, forcibly is too strong a word: it's more gentle than that. That doesn't make it any better.

"Hello." I spit the word right in the face of Roger Shepp. Nik's best friend. Great, that's nice. What, is it a biannual schedule you two set up? "Every six months, let's fuck up her life royally!"

They seem to be sticking to it rather diligently.

"Joanna. I've missed you. How's your life?"

"Why are you like this?"

"The bitterness of life has fouled me." He always did have a sense of humor.

"Do you want something?" He lets go and holds his hands up defensively.

"I was just saying hi!"

"You were saying hi rather malevolently."

"Well I'm sorry I'm not as cheerful as your friends. You really do attract them like moths to a light."

"I suppose you'd be proof." I shoot.

He smiles and tut-tuts. "Venomous words."

"Well, you hate me." He pauses, genuinely confused.

"I do?" I pause as well.

"You don't?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Oh."

"Why should I hate you?"

"I don't know. I just, always thought you hated me."

"No…" Silence.

"Well, this is awkward." I cough a few times.

"Uh…so…see you around?"

"Yeah, yeah, see you around, um…sorry…"

"No problem…um…yeah…sorry…" We both laugh uncomfortably and I leave after shaking hands.

What the hell? That was like one huge anticlimax! I'd forgotten that Shepp was actually pretty nice. Sorry about the whole dramatic crap there.

"Where the hell were you? You just disappeared into the coat room for like ten minutes!" I shoot Josef a glare.

"I was getting my coat."

XXX

Evidently Mort didn't find anything either. Well, that was fruitless and pointless.

Though not entirely…Beth did mention seeing a 'weird sort of shadow' in an alley, though Mort couldn't smell anything.

So we have reason to revisit their club, but not ours. Definitely not ours.

"So you saw Roger, huh?" I wince. I forgot about their smell.

"Yes."

"And?"

"Nothing much happened. We said hi. I left." He glares at me, shaking his head. Well, it's true.

"Johnny…" He moves closer on the couch. We've both decided to spend the night next to Ben's room, in case he needs anything.

Or he discovers his own strength. Mort describes it as 'lookey what I can break' syndrome. Heh.

So we're watching movies again – I am once again attempting to find what is so interesting about Lord of the Rings.

"Wait, why did they walk there if they rode back on eagle things?"

"Because they had to walk."

"Why'd they have to walk?"

"…Because they just had to!"

"Ha."

There's a loud, conspicuous thump from the other room. Mort and I look at each other.

"I got it." I tell him. This'll go well. 'Stop breaking –OW. That's a very valuable – okay, that can be replaced OW. My arm cannot.'

"Ben?" I call, opening the door slightly. It's completely dark.

"When are you going to let me out? I'm feeling better."

"Well, the shitty headaches come in waves." He's sitting in the arm chair, surveying the room, and looking rather kingly. Moonlight accents his features slightly, sharpening him in some places and softening him in others, once again making him look exceedingly handsome.

"Thanks for the uplifting pep talk. I'd still like to be able to leave."

"How about I get you more blood?" He snorts.

"Will it be the bagged stuff?"

"It's not any different than that of a human."

"It's dead."

"It takes slightly longer for the hemoglobin to kick in. That's all." I go and sit on the couch across from him.

"Have you made any headway on the guy?"

"Some." He sighs.

"Look, you can leave soon. Just not yet. You're already acting better. Believe me, this is an advantage most newly turned vispus don't get."

"Or are you just trying to make sure I don't run away?" I pause and watch him for a few seconds. On some level, he's right. We don't want him to leave yet. He's the one solid lead we have.

"You saying you haven't thought about it?" It's a moot point. He looks away, out the window, a tick in his jaw.

"What if we let you walk around the motel grounds?"

"You trust me not to leave?"

"Should I?" He stares at me for a small while.

"Yes." He says finally. "I won't leave."

"Well, then." I unlock the front door. "Enjoy yourself."

XXX

When I come back into the other room, I know Mort's heard every word.

"You really think he won't leave?" I sit down next to him, curling my legs under my feet. Resting one arm on the couch, I turn to look at him.

"I think we should trust him not to leave. Not like he'll be hard to find if he does." He laughs.

"Before you try to beat the odds, be sure you can survive the odds beating you!" I laugh right back.

"Sure." His gaze doesn't pull away, but it drifts downward.

"Hmmm." He says softly, reaching out and tracing one of my scars. I shiver at his touch.

"Never again." He whispers, smiling at me. I chuckle a little.

"If you say so."

A/N: Okay, this is the end of the pointless foreshadowing, I promise. Most likely. At least, somefin' big is planned for next time, hopefully, which in itself is big because I usually don't plan this, I just sit down and make myself type for a couple hours everyday and make it up as I go along. Which is basically where all my filler comes from. SO! Here's hoping, right?

Look at that empty little plot bunny food bowl. Awwww. How sad. I don't suppose anyone would like to fill it? Poor me, so sad, me want attention, pity the bunnies.

(\ /)

(0.o)

( )

(")(")

tHe BuNnY

One last thing: Name origins!

Johnny – Sadly enough, 'Johnny 5' by Anemo. It's sung by a woman, which is why…well, why she's a girl.

Joanna – I was trying to figure out what traditional female name could possibly be shortened to Johnny. This is all I came up with.

Mort – I heard the name Mordecai Richler for the fifth time and decided I loved it.

Bolt – I was just writing and realized I hadn't named the hellhound. Bolt was the first thing that came to mind, and it fit it three different ways (bolt you to something, bolt away, bolt of lightning).

Roger Shepp: I have _absolutely_ no idea. None. Didn't even 'just come to me'. I just looked down and turns out I wrote it on word. So, oh well.

Ben: From the antagonist in Christopher Moore's books, Elijah Ben Sapir. Oop. Nice one. Just, stealing ideas now, am I? High five!


	12. But They Sure Are Good Listeners

Disclaimer: Being not quite all-that-evil, I decided to update again 'cause of that's not even the actual climax, just a pseudo-ha-ha-I-fooled-you-all,-didn't-I climax. And, no, I don't own anything.

This is a feeling I never thought I'd have to feel again. The pull, the tug on my chest that tells me that something is missing …and that I missed all my chances. That the one person in the world I want to stay connected to is gone again.

"Guys?!" I here some stop-what-you're-doing-spidey-sense-is-tingling-there's-evil-afoot sounds in response to my cry.

"Johnny? Something wrong?" Vicki gets here first.

"Joanna?" Followed by Beth. Wow, vampires are slow. This is sad, guys.

"Hello? What happened?"

"Just, wait a second. 'Kay?" In a few seconds the other three show up.

"What is it?"

"Does it have to do with the fledgling?"

"Will this take long?" I shoot Josef a glare.

"I'm sorry, is saving lives detrimental to your personal life?"

"It has been in the past, yes." Beth puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back.

"Whose life is in danger?" All it takes is eye contact with my shiny wet sockets.

"Ohmigod. What do we do?"

"Just…" I choke back my tears. That's the easy part;

No one told me it was so hard to swallow.

I wave my arm in the direction of the forest.

"Can we find him…please?"

XXX

I'll spare you the painful details and lamentations of the past few hours. They've gone by in a bit of a haze anyway. The vampires all went to the forest and…

I don't know, chanted and held hands in a circle and used their magical all-seeing omniscient vampire powers to find Mort. Or sniffed some shit and followed some stuff, but whatever. Same difference.

Once again, so as to get you up to tempo, I'll hurry past everything that's happened: Mort somehow left a scent trail, unbeknownst to our antagonist (or perhaps beknownst by him…heh). That's what we followed, as evidently he left the motel grounds almost immediately and hurried down the side of the road, a path which we followed diligently.

Incidentally, have you ever heard the myth that vampires can't cross running water? If so, I'd really like to know how they got to North America. Just saying.

Eventually we got to a dance teaching building. That was rented out. So, this guy, who is evidently over three thousand years old, was too cheap to even bother using an abandoned building or even buy this one. Nope. He rented it.

A dance hall.

What the hell?!

The guys' got class, at least. Not too many mirrors. I hate mirrors, reflections, having to know what other people see when they look at me. It's a lot easier to say 'I don't care' when you don't know.

_I've been trying to save somebody._

_Mostly it's a face hiding in the cracks of my bedroom ceiling,_

_Mostly it's a man who only shows himself in the blood vessels of my eyelids when I squint at the sun_

_Most days too bright for clear vision_

_Mostly… it's a man._

"Where is he?"

"Why did…who uses a dance hall?"

"I sense a lot of bad jokes coming." Mick seems to be taking the lead as I've basically become a complete invalid, wandering the halls thinking about poetry. I feel like I'm looking for misplaced keys or something, like if I look in all the different rooms he'll just be in one of them.

_Never a woman, I have never wished to save my own kind_

_A guardian angel, maybe someday for some man, maybe, mostly –_

_He looks like my father._

_Fat and sad._

_Have you ever wanted to mold dough into rosary beads just to string them from fall trees and let them be blown sideways by your own breath like forgiveness?_

Forgiveness indeed, one can only hope. Why was I this _stupid_? Sure, let the newbie walk around all night. For fun! You're a nice gal, Johnny, why not just let him roam unsupervised in the wilderness where there are likely to be possessive and angry super-vamps waiting for you to make a mistake like this?

Great job, Jo!

I might be sick.

If you've ever dealt with a crisis that, to a certain degree, is out of your hands, you might know how I feel. My dog ran away when I was little. He was a big dog, nearly seventy pounds, and I doubted he'd get eaten by coyotes or anything…but I was the one who left the door open.

I felt so useless, so helpless, and as the hours ticked by I flickered between a futile hope – everything will be okay, it'll work itself out – and complete pessimistic despair – he got run over and it's all my fault and I'm going to have the guilt of his death hanging over me for the rest of my life.

That's basically what's happening now. Looking in these rooms is to finding Mort what standing in a room and flapping your wings is to flying.

_Have you ever wanted to whiten the red eyes of a stone boy just to let him see you clear like bleach, and broken glass_

_Have you seen your grandfather cry?_

_Neither have I._

_But I've seen him kneel at his dead wife's grave and sit silent mostly_

_I wanted to break his neck because someday I will guard somebody_

_Someday he will cry for me mostly because he will know the sting of my sweat on his eyes like a ripe onion being cut for stuffing on Thanksgiving day_

_I will cut for his safety he will look like my father the soldier I throw behind the bookshelf Sunday mornings when war decides to make the front page…_

_Have you seen that soldier smiling?_

_I have._

I've separated myself from the group. Not because I'm in pain or anything, but because I'm going to do something even I don't want to see myself do.

"I know you're here." My voice is not exceedingly loud, but I know it's loud enough.

"You don't have to show yourself. I know. But I just…" The walls may have ears, but they're not very good conversationalists.

"What do you want with them? Never mind. I don't even care. Just…" I have no idea what I'm doing. All I can do is appeal to the predator who likes to play games. If we're lucky he'll be amused enough to let them go for now.

"Just let them go for now. You won't gain anything, Mort makes a terrible prisoner. Believe me. He'll just keep making wisecracks." I give out a choked laugh, a clash of humor and sadness bundled into a wet, pitiful little sound.

"You can't be serious. It's not fun for you, can't be. Not after you'd used them up! Just let us go for now. More fun, after, if you give us a little happiness to take away. Come on. You're not telling me you're a boring villain, are you?" The silence is amused. There's really no other way of putting it: up until now it's been cold. Like I really am just talking to walls. Now…it's like there's a person. Who suddenly decided I was interesting enough to listen to.

The silence is intrigued.

"I mean, I boring, traditional captor would just be all 'muahaha, I have your friends be sad'. What, do you wear a monocle? How about a top hat? A preponderance for tuxedos, perhaps? Nah. You've already shown that you have a certain degree of originality. Renting out a dance studio. Kudos for that." The silence is starting to liiiiiiike me. The silence is going to pass me a note in fifth period.

"So, please, for the sake of stories everywhere, don't be that guy." The silence is curious. What guy? The silence asks me.

"You know, the guy that fills his evil quota by kidnapping. I mean, that is just so…clichéd. Come on! It's like, call me when you have a better villain, because kidnapping vampires? PASS." I think the silence is laughing. No, wait…wait for it…yes, that is definitely silence laughter.

"My point being, could I have back my friends until you think of something else? Heck, I'll even visit you on weekends. Help you think of better stuff, huh?" The silence is…well, silent. This is the most bizarre one-way conversation I've ever had.

I talk to fish and this is the most bizarre one-way conversation I've ever had.

There's a sound, like a creak, a door, then slamming. And…

A groan? From a person. Oh my god.

It's like a rollercoaster of emotion!

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee.

"Mort?" It's a whisper…

And I don't know how he heard me.

My dog came back home. When I was little. We found him. He came back.

_I have wanted to wrap his grin in paper mache and beat the fight out of it._

_I have wanted to lick his wounds every particle space on his body dry until he has forgotten the sting of shrapnel and his mother's grief_

_Mostly she is angry like a dull steak knife who knows what it feels like to cut through skin with just her voice I am looking to save somebody_

_With just my voice._

_He looks like that little boy who's fallen during Cops and Robbers most rounds_

_I have wanted to play cease fire, dinner bell, come on home or_

_I will be the nurse I wanted to play field nurse or medicine woman or_

_Mother may I wrap my skin around them._

I don't hear words, exactly, more like a wet sound – pain, confusion. But it's there. And it's coming from down the hallway.

_Those convicts I see on TV they stare like they know most parts of a woman better than I,_

_I don't doubt their crimes…_

_But my favorite combination of two English words is still swaddling cloth._

_And I wouldn't mind mummifying a murder with my own two arms if it meant_

_I could undo his father's knuckles like unstringing planets from their orbits with just a snip of a sinew_

_My two arms are mostly muscles but there's a little bit of shame on you stuck within me for the mothers who let their sons become what they come to be –_

_I would like to reroute the storks some nights._

_I would like to open my wound to the wounded and restore them with my own blood._

I don't start to run. I'm tentative, because it seems like I haven't suffered for long enough. I thought angst lasted more than four hours?

But who am I to complain?

_I sometimes feel I have no use for a beating heart._

_Like a mutt after his own tail like my own two hands_

_I would give them to a handless carpenter if he could build me a house large enough in which to house my guilt for being beautiful!_

_And never being able to look fully in the eye to the man on the corner with the smile__** just**__ like my father's and my grandfather's _

_And my grandfather has been mostly a poor man._

_I have been mostly a crier I sometimes have to laugh at my own two faces the speak_

_In different languages. One of them is crying to be held the other is a hold on comfort as big as the beating heart of a broken child…_

_I will hold him._

_My little boy he has glass eyes from too many nights made to forget me…_

_My memory only lets guilt in, I have enough guilt to fill oceans with_

_I have enough caution in my voice to make the general wary of my footsteps!_

_And it's true._

Pacing myself, I walk slowly, calmly, towards the sound.

_I do want to take you in my ribcage and bind you inside me until you know how to breath calmly._

_It is true, I am mostly calm like the second before a storm._

_I am mostly safety like the moments between bombs_

_I am mostly a mother, sometimes I play daughter but I am mostly a sinner_

_Sometimes I pretend myself the saint_

_I am mostly an echo of your Hail Mary, never just the sound,_

_I am mostly the crescendo of a man's fist never the slap back across the cheek,_

_I have always been a broken compass spinning whenever someone steps into my circle,_

_I know not how to stand steady but I will someday._

_I have always been the user never the pusher,_

_I have always been the fall never the ripple outwards,_

_I have always been the breath on the other line, never the breather._

I come up to the door, which I assume is where the sound is coming from. It's unlocked, and I don't know if that's good or bad. Here's hoping for good, right? I place my shaking hand on the knob.

_I will breath somebody life someday, for somebody someday, I promise -_

I come across a gruesome, yet hopeful, scene: Ben, crippled on the ground in the fetal position, holding his arms around himself. I can't see any wounds, but that doesn't mean there aren't any.

_- I will save you._

Mort's standing in the corner, as close as possible to him, hands over his stomach. He's wearing a navy, long sleeved shirt, so I can't tell immediately if he's been hurt.

"Joanna!" His voice is surprisingly strong. More surprising still is when he somehow convinces Ben to stand up, though the boy's still clutching his abdomen.

"Come on, Ben. We can go. We can go home. Come on." Ben's breathing heavily, ragged, like there's something in his throat. Mordecai himself is looking…less than healthy. Slightly pale, tired.

"Johnny!"

"This way! Guys, I smell something!"

"Yeah, I got it too. Beth! Vicki! Left hallway!" I hear their hurried footsteps, and pay them no heed. Rushing over to Ben, I slide my shoulders under one of his arms similar to how Mort is doing, so that he hangs limply between the two of us. Evidently this building is shaped like a U, because the door we find leads us into a place overlooking a body of water in between a lake and a pond in size (otherwise known as a lake-pond) and surrounded on three sides by walls. Josef pulls around with one of the cars in the distance.

"Ben! Ben? You okay, buddy?" Ben manages to straighten up, revealing a round, wide bloodstain and a hole in his clothing.

There's a sharp intake of breath, collectively taken by both Beth and Mick. What, you two never seen a staking before?

"Get him back to the car. Now." Mort orders them. I'm more worried about him, though: he still hasn't taken his hands away from his stomach. They leave, half-carrying Ben to the car where the others are waiting, leaving only Mort and I.

"We'll walk back!" I call to them, looking to Mort for confirmation. He gives me a grateful grimace.

He hates having people worrying about him (hypocrite).

Only when they've pulled away does he takes his hands away and I see the wet, black stain that is rapidly spreading.

There's a hole in his stomach. And actual hole, to the point where I can see bone.

"Mort!" Okay, wait, what?! How is there a HOLE there? Excuse me, but you seem to have forgotten to give me back a piece of my vampire. Young man? I ordered a WHOLE vampire, you have given me 99 of a vampire. I demand a refund!

I suppose that's a valid point: he's not healing. I roll back the sleeve of my shirt, a task easier said than done because it has thumb-holes (not purposeful, but I have bad habits), from which I have to unhook my thumbs. But, nevertheless, in the end the sleeve is up near my elbow.

"Here-" I walk toward him, arm out like the offering it is. Even now, he manages to give me a Mort All-Knowing Smirk.

"Nah. I'm okay. I've learned a few things in a thousand years, Johnny." Even as he says this I hear a…ewgh…squelching…sound….(shudders). That is _gross_… His eyes are closed and he's making a very concentrated face. I watch as a few thin strands of tissue connect to each other, like starter threads for a spider's web, and more and more begins to fill in.

Suddenly, Mort looks down.

"Ach! Crap! Crap crap crap!"

"What?"

"It's eating my shirt!"

"What's eating your shirt?"

"It's going to heal over the fabric!" He shouts, cross his arms on either side of his body, gripping the hem of the shirt and pulling it off. He flings it on the ground and stares at it like it just spontaneously burst into flames.

But even then I continue to watch as his wound knits itself together, and where a few seconds ago there was a gaping hole there is now smooth, brown skin over flawless muscle.

Did I mention this is the first time I've seen him with his shirt off?

Fate is so sucking up to me.

I suppose that's one good thing about what happened. That realization, that I've already missed so many chances. That I don't know how many I have left.

"Joanna?" He frowns, stepping closer. I do likewise, so that we're only about a foot apart. So that I have to look up to be able to see his face (tall bastard).

"'M fine." I can't help it. I put my hands on either side of his chest and he shivers a little, closing his eyes. It's bizarre, to think I could have that affect on someone.

Very carefully, tentatively, like he's expecting me at any moment to push him away disgustedly, he puts his hands on my back.

_The simple fact is, I don't know where the lines are. Or if there are any._

And I don't know who starts it, but suddenly I can feel my lips trapped in a searing kiss, deepened when one of his hands moves to the back of my head and the other to the small of my back, pulling me closer.

And I never realized that for my whole life, I'd felt something missing. Never realized it because I'd never even known I had it, even for a night.

I've closed my eyes, so I don't know how I slide my arms around his neck so easily, but I do anyways.

I don't know how long we stand there…kissing. It sounds bizarre to even use the word in context with me.

But I do know that my lips are swollen and numb for the rest of the night.

A/N: In response to SOMEBODY'S comment…play time is tomorrow, children ;).

And, if anyone is curious, the poem, 'Bear With Me', can be found on iTunes in the podcast section (meaning it's free! Yay!). Search 'Jamie Kilstein' (it's not by Jamie Kilstein, just do it), and you should come up with one result (a podcast). In that podcast look for #24 (Lily from Youth Speaks). I'm not saying necessarily DO IT, just that I should give credit where credit's due.

…Also, do it.


	13. Play Tme

Disclaimer: Well, I believe my use of the word 'disclaimer' is rather self explanatory, seeing as how this is posted in the Moonlight section.

"Man, this was one of my favorite shirts." Mort grumbles, holding the now-ruined bundle of shirt in his fist while we walk home. Mind you, he's opted for no shirt versus blood-stained-shirt-complete-with-wooden-stake-hole (for easy access!). Here's hoping we don't get arrested for indecency (yaaay)! So there's a muscular Indian guy walking shirtless down a highway after midnight…that's either the start of a very bad joke or a very bad movie.

I'm still a little confused. We've got to go for one of three options, right? Ignore that it happened, talk about what happened, or just plain ol' keep...once again, not comfortable with the word kissing. I have no clue so far.

Mort clears his throat. "So. What'd you do to get us out?" Right, so, ignoring it.

"You don't even want to know."

"I don't?" I shoot him a glance.

"I doubt it."

After a few more minutes of walking (I'm a natural born fast walker, he's…well, he's a vampire, so there's that), we arrive back at the motel.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I am going to go take a well deserved shower and find a shirt." He grins. Then, just before heading for whichever room he's claimed for tonight, he leans in and kisses me on the cheek. Um?

"We'll talk soon, 'kay?" Well you're just covering all the bases, aren't you?

I just nod numbly and watch him walk away. I mean, who knows when I'll get that view again, right?

I can't believe I just thought that. God, I am so shallow. ::hits. Head. On. Wall.::

XXX

While the vispus recover in their little vispus sanctuary (otherwise known as, like, half of the rooms being cranked up to 95 degrees Fahrenheit to make the Asian vampires more comfortable), I plan on enjoying the show.

"You know, we're not doing this for your amusement. We're not some basic cable wrestling match for you to turn on when you feel the need." Mick glares at me.

"Yes, but, you and the other uniparta are going to fight –" he looks as if he's about to interrupt.

"Fine. 'Keep your skills sharpened'. And I wanna watch." I forget to mention that I'm holding a bowl of popcorn.

"He's right, you know. I don't see why you find this so amusing." Beth comes up behind me and I turn around.

"Sit down. You know you want to." I chuck a piece of popcorn at her. She smiles at me guiltily and relents, plopping down next to me on the bench.

"Beth!" Mick looks indignant.

"It's no use, Mick. She's come over to the dark side. We have great dental care." Beth giggles and Mick looks like he's trying very, very hard not to make a face.

"Vicki! Get your ass over here!"

"Can the rest of me come too?"

"Only if you're polite." She sidles over, thumbs stuck in her pockets.

"Sit." I order. Beth grins and in turn chucks popcorn at Vicki. It gets stuck in her hair (I'm not going to tell her. You going to tell her? I'm not gonna do it.).

"Josef will never agree to this."

"Oh, Mick, you know I love to have an audience!" Well guess who just showed up. Wearing suspenders. AGAIN.

"You're wearing that?"

"I'm sorry, does my personal fashion choice affect you?"

"I'm just saying, it might make it harder."

"Well, I couldn't let it be too easy for myself." Josef grins and slaps Mick on the arm. Mick looks like he's going to explode. Josef steps away so that there are at least a few yards between them, dropping into a crouch.

Mick is such a hypocrite. He's wearing his stupid pea coat. He, too, drops into a low crouch, emitting a deep throated growl.

Though Mick's back is to us, I can clearly see Josef go into (we need a better name) 'vamp-mode'. Hunting stance, maybe? Shit-face?

I hear a distressed little gasp next to me, and upon turning my head I see Beth wince and turn her head away from the scene. Poor girl.

"Hey, you okay?" I nudge her with my elbow.

"Mmhm…just a little bit…hem. I'm fine." She blinks a few times and looks back up to the two unipartas circling each other.

Josef makes the first lunge, gripping Mick's shoulder and head apart so as to bear his neck. Before I even realize this has happened, however, Mick twitches his body, resulting in Josef flying a good ten feet into the air.

This is so much better than cable.

Josef lands on his feet, however, and the two once again begin circling each other. Mick, traditional guy that he is, opts for a sucker punch, aimed directly for Josef's cheekbone. Josef catches him by the wrist lightning quick, twisting his arm until Mick is choking himself.

No, I'm not kidding. How many hits do you think we'd get if I put this on iTube? Or, MeTube or YouTube or WeTube or TheyTube. Whatever it's called. Google Videos.

Panting, Mick leans forward so that Josef has to fall onto his back in order to keep his grip, pulling his arm down. Josef flips over, back on the ground, and Mick is suddenly on top of him.

"OH! Look at 'im go!" Vicki shouts.

"Woo!" I call, flicking popcorn at one of them. I think…yep, it landed on Josef's nose. What? Not like he'd be able to hurt one of Pollox's employees anyway. Mnyeh.

Josef rips a vicious snarl, resulting in Mick's hands being pressed further onto his neck before bent legs come under him and extend, sending him Up And Away (And Off To The Side).

"Oh, burned! Go Josef!" He shoots me a look – I can' t tell if he's angry or happy. Same difference, right? Pff (holds up peace sign) whatevs, man.

Mick rolls over on his side, leaping up and growling, though a smile plays at the lips of the both of them.

Suddenly Josef is a blur of Prudish Businessman, whipping around Mick fast enough to make the air hum. Far as I can tell, ha actually runs _up a wall_, ricocheting off to land on Mick's shoulders, pinning him to the ground.

This is so awesome I'm going to cry. No, I'm not kidding, they need theme music. Or a TV show. Something.

Josef grins, stepping off of Mick and offering a hand to raise him off the ground.

"Hey, you're getting better."

"I hate you." Mick rubs the back of his head, which must be sore. Oof. Beth rushes over to him.

"Oh my god. Mick! Are you okay?" He looks up at her.

"Hm? Yeah, I'm fine, I just…ow." They share a little laugh, though I don't bother to listen to the rest of their conversation, hurrying up to Josef.

"Dude! That was awesome!"

"Are you a fourteen year old skater boy?"

"The level of physical skill and predetermining of your opponent's attacks was extremely advanced." Happy? Nyah, nyah, I know words.

He just grins at me, and, almost out of habit, I hold my hand up for a high five.

I receive one.

"I'm glad _someone_ around here appreciates it." He shoots Mick a glare which the younger vampire either doesn't notice or chooses not to.

"Well, if my vote counts, it'd be cool to see inter-species fights."

"Training matches."

"Fights."

"...Fine."

XXX

"Can you please turn it down?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Why?"

"Because it's –" I check the thermostat. "It's ninety-seven degrees in here!"

"And I grew up in India. This is normal for me."

"And how happy is Ben about this?"

"Ben is, for all our purposes, most comfortable at this temperature as well. He may not himself be Asian in origin, but his body is most comfortable at this temperature." I groan, and plop down on the couch in his room. Luckily it's cloth, because I'm pretty sure if it were leather I would be permanently glued to it by sweat.

"You could just not wear pants." I peel my arm off my eyes to glare at him.

"I don't like what you're suggesting." He pauses for a second.

"Firstly, you have a dirty, dirty mind," – well, he is sort of right. "Second, I meant shorts."

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"First, we're in Vancouver so I've recently stopped owning shorts. Also, I never wear shorts."

"You don't?"

"Nope."

"Not even when you're sleeping?"

"I sleep in shorts as often as you sleep with your shirt off." He smirks a little. I'd sarcasm him some more, but by god it's NINETY-SEVEN (and a half) DEGREES in here. I grew up in New England, people!

I mean, yes, we did get hot summers, but not inside. It's humid, too.

That's it. I am never going to India if these are the average temperatures.

"Heeeeeh." I let out a long, childish whine.

"If it's so terrible for you in here, why don't you leave?" He regards me, just barely a hint of amusement on his face as he leans up against the arm of the couch.

"Because," I reply, waving one arm in his general direction while the other covers me eyes. I just do that when it's hot. I don't know what to tell you.

"You're hurt and recovering and sick and stuff and as your friend I'm obligated to check on you and bring you soup."

"But you didn't bring soup." I peek out from under my arm.

"You're a vampire. For all intensive purposes, I count as soup."

"Hm." He gives out an amused little grunt. On random and inexplicable impulse, I reach out and grab his arm (he's wearing a short sleeved t shirt). He's actually considerably cooler than I feel, being as he doesn't emit body heat and doesn't sweat. That lucky bastard. ARGH.

Still, the lack of heat feels quite nice, so I press my sweating forehead into his palm.

"You feel good."

"Nice to know I'm of such a use to you."

"You're welcome." I tug him closer so that now I have a whole arm. In turn I wrap both my arms around the one of his that I've claimed, doing my best to cool down.

"I thought people from New England were tough." I can literally hear the grin in his voice.

"I thought people from India weren't…vampires."

"Nice."

"Shut up." I un-bury my face and pick up a pillow, swatting him just slightly.

He's completely silent for a few seconds. What, did he take that the wrong way?

"You shouldn't have done that."

"Why not?" He leaps off the couch arm, swiping his own pillow off of one of the arm chairs.

"Cause now it's_on_!" I curl myself into a ball just before the pillow hits me full on.

"Uh oh. You know what happened last time." I inform him, just before jumping off the couch, pillow in hand, and whipping it at his head.

It describes a wide, low arch through the air before hitting him square in the shoulder, though by that time he's already gotten a really big one.

I watch as he leans back like a pitcher, preparing himself for the toss of a lifetime, when –

WHOOSH! Flies right past me when I duck. HA! Suckah! You do not mess with Joanna Lovett in a pillow fight!

Last time we did this I was sore for days after. We had what I would go so far as to call the most epic pillow fight this side of the Atlantic.

We'd known each other for two months.

I think even then I'd known we weren't going to have a normal…business relationship.

OW! Eff! He got me!

"Ha!"

"Oh, yeah?" I pitch three at once, and I'm certain at least two hit him.

"Three to two!" He glares at me, amassing a stack of…oh crap. There are at least five pillows-

"_OH_!"

"Damnit!"

"I just dodged ALL of those! How did you even _manage_ that?!"

"Man, there's no_way_ that should have happened. I aimed perfectly!"

"Oh-ho, not so good to feel the inferior being, is it?" I shout, chucking another pillow at him, which he catches. I didn't even know motels had this many pillows. He snatches up another pillow, and it's then that I realize…

They're all on his side.

I'm dead.

He advances, holding both pillows, eyes narrowed triumphantly. He raises his hand for the final blow, and I wince in preparation of my defeat.

"Defend yourself!" He tells me, offering me the pillow. Shocked, I take it from him, looking deep into his eyes.

As if cued by some higher being, both of us start to laugh uncontrollably, falling onto the couch.

A few minutes later, after we're fairly certain that the random bouts of laughter have ceased and I'm catching my breath, he looks up at me, still panting.

"We should…check on Ben."

"Yes, we should…"

A/N: So, two very different kinds of play time. Did I accomplish my goal? No, wait, no yelling. Nothing happened simply because these were two scenes I just wanted out there – I figured they could take a break from evil dance halls, no? I left the ending rather open to one of two ideas to continue it from, as I'm not actually sure if I want Mort and Johnny to…::erm:: progress in their relationship? Meaning, if it should just be a one-time kiss. Yes, that is meant to elicit thoughts going either way. So, choose the plot bunny you'd like to feed!

(\ /l (\ /)

(0.o) (-.o)

(3 3) () ()

(")(") (")(")

Aww. Don't worry. They share food anyway.

Now, as a completely off topic side note: How fitting is it that the latest update for Indiefeed Alt/Modern Rock is 'Blood Bank' by Whalebone?


	14. Wild Tigers I Have Known

Disclaimer: I just…now…realized…that I control Mort and Johnny. Really. Up until now they just did whatever. Now I realize that I'm _making_ them do whatever! No, don't worry your pretty little heads, I'm not killing anyone.

"We've turned vampires into Count Chocula and teenage girls are dating them." – Steve Niles

"We should…check on Ben."

"Yes, we should…" There's total silence while I try to form a coherent thought.

"So I'll just…go…do that." He clears his throat awkwardly, looking away.

"Right. So. Um. Bye."

"Yeah, that. Bye."

"Uh huh." I'm not so sure the thermostat is the only reason I'm sweating. I raise myself from the couch uncomfortably, seeing as I think my brain's stopped working just now, heading for Ben's door.

XXX

"Hey Ben." I enter through the side, like I have the other times. Surprisingly, however, he's not in the bedroom this time.

"Ben? You there?" None of the lights are on, but they wouldn't be.

But that's when I hear a soft sobbing from the bathroom. Not choking sobs, more the type to reign them back in.

I pad softly on the tile floor, trying to make the least noise possible.

"Ben?" My voice is feather soft. His legs bent up, face buried in his knees, arms wrapped around his whole body like they're holding him together.

"I'm never going to go home, am I?" His words tremble with pain.

"Ben…" Before I can even finish, he is consumed in another bout of sobs.

And somehow the mother in me knows just what to do. I sit down right next to him and pull him close to me, cradling this almost fully grown child to my chest like a small boy, rocking him back and forth.

The room is blue from lack of artificial light, though night spills in through one window onto the cheap white tile.

I feel him move against me, body convulsing with anguish.

So I start to sing. Sad, isn't it? That is my default comfort. What? Your cat died? I'll sing you 'Wild Tigers I Have Known'! You have a terminal disease? 'Hollow Heart' by n. Lannon!

So I don't know why I start singing 'House Under The Hill.' But I do anyway.

"Well I'm the same kid I was, out in the school yard." I suppose it's really more opera. Er, not that I'm wearing a Viking helmet, nor have I recently spouted long blonde braids, but it's more music put to words, not words put to music. Does that even make…no, no it makes no sense whatsoever.

All toads are frogs but not all frogs are toads! See? I did it again.

All tulips are flowers but not all flowers are tulips. I'm on a roll. No no no, one more! All squares are rectangles but not all rectangles are squares. I think I got it out of my system.

What? Oh. I'm comforting a crying…

Sorry, wait: Greatest teen angst story ever: Confessions Of a Teenage Vampire. Hee.

Right. Comfort the angsty teen vamp. On it.

Wait, he stopped crying. That's good, right?

I lean down and check his pulse.

Yep. He conked out. He cried on my shoulder, listened to me while I absentmindedly sang half of some Finches song, and…died. Well, temporarily, but still. Guess that takes care of him for the next few days. Now I have to deal with that other thing.

XXX

"Uh…hello again." I peek in the door. No, seriously, do you all have an aversion to lights? Nothing. Not a single iota of illumination. Still, he's turned the heat down. To ninety five. Yeah, that's not really a compromise.

"Mmmm." I hear come from the couch.

"Hello, mister potato." I lean over the top of the couch. He's lying, back down, on the couch. I can't see him fully, just the places where lights from outside have painted blue: cheekbone, eyes, hair, a little chest.

"Hello, gorgeous."

"Not funny."

"Wasn't trying to be."

"You were just trying to creep me out."

"I was just trying to scare you."

"Didn't work."

"I see that." I can't tell exactly but I feel his gaze meet mine full on. Now, there's something I'd really like to do right now, but I doubt that's going to happen.

I'm willing to bet that everyone in the world knows what it is. Also willing to bet that no one in the world cares whether or not I do it.

There's total silence. He seems perfectly comfortable with it, like he's expecting to elicit a certain reaction from me, a Mona Lisa smile on his face.

I hate it when he does that. But he doesn't stop, and he knows, he _knows_, that I'm becoming uncomfortable with this. He's got to know. No one could act like this by accident.

To hell with it.

I lean down, forward, until our faces meet in a you-know-what. There's a deep inhalation of breath, mine or his, I don't know. I hook my fingers into the neckline of his shirt, and instead of pulling away…

He pulls me on top of him, hands on either side of my waist. I'm kneeling on his chest, which I imagine isn't comfortable in the least, but he doesn't seem very concerned with that at the moment.

Hold on…can't…form…coherent…thoughts…

Never breaking the kiss, I brace my hands on his chest and stretch my legs out so that we're fully lying on top of each other. I feel his arms move from my hips to encircle my waist fully, pulling me closer (if that's possible).

Ahem. Yeah, yeah I'd say that's proper diversity of immunology. Um.

A/N: Sorry! Sorry sorry sorry! I know, I know, there was nobody from Moonlight in this chapter and I'm a terrible person and I don't deserve to be on and what's wrong with me and blah, blah, blah. I'll try and have more of them in the next chapter!


	15. Yeah, That's What They All Say

"I've noticed Ben has been…rather quiet, the last few hours."

"Even for Ben."

"Well, that's because I killed him." Henry glares at me. Oh, yeah? You think I wouldn't?

I'm not going to lie. I wouldn't.

"Well, he is dead."

"Technically, Joanna, we're all dead." I hold my hand to my heart.

"Even…even me?" Sob. Tears, sob, sob, cry, sob, oh, sad, cry cry, tear.

"I don't see how that's amusing."

"I do. And technically that's all that matters." I wink at him. Take that, you melodramatic Tudor. Nyah nyah.

"Wait, dead how? More than…usual?" Mick coughs. No, that was great. More than usually dead. He's like 150 percent dead. I should be saying these out loud. Share my comic genius with the world.

"Um…" I look over at Mort. You've died before, you explain it, Apple Breath.

Oh, I can't believe I just thought that. I can't believe I even _know_ that.

"Henry, your kind often…" Conk out. Die? Turn into corpses? Suffer rigor mortis? Get staked from the inside? I have more if you're at a loss of words.

"Sleep, during the day, do you not? Against your will?" Well, sleep isn't really the word I'd use. But, okay. Go sentence fragments!

"Yes."

"Well, we do sort of the same thing, only for…longer periods of time. And more infrequently." He won't say this out loud, but it's like menstruation for women. The longer you have it the more regular it becomes. With him it's pretty much on a monthly basis, and always for two to four days.

Creepy, huh?

"It was more convenient to be awake for longer periods of time than to go on and off with the sun, like northern species."

"Northern species?" No more science talk for you.

"Vispus and unipartas." Silence.

"…okay."

"Speaking of which, where's the other uniparta?"

"What?" Mort rolls his eyes.

"Well, of the three of you, one does not belong." Henry shoots laser beams out of his eyes, boring holes through the room.

"Josef wasn't feeling well." Mort looks to me. _Wonder whose fault that is_. Quit it, you. Stop iiiiit!

"I'll go check on him." Mort's look turns to a glare. I, however, just make doe eyes at him on my way out.

XXX

Josef's lying, side down, on the bed. Arms folded, staring at the wall, and…he's either pouting or…no, pouting is the only word that works.

Did I mention I have trouble with personal boundaries?

I get into his perspective, lying on my side, facing the opposite direction so our faces are perfectly level.

"Hello!"

"Hello."

"How are you?" My voice has been infused with Happy Rainbows.

"I am fine. How are you." It's…it isn't really a question.

"Evidently, I smell rather a lot like cocoa." I hear a low, deep-throated growl. Touchy.

"Oh, don't be so embarrassed!" I uncross my arms and pat him on the head.

He doesn't like it very much.

Too bad.

"And why, on god's green earth, would I not be embarrassed?"

"Because, you aren't the first one who's suffered this fate." He stares at me. Look, I'm not waiting for your brain to catch up to my mouth. I occupy myself by noticing that instead of sporting the usual business attire, he's dressed like you'd expect someone his physical age to dress. Rock band t shirt, worn jeans, mussed hair. Though, not too mussed, you see. Just disheveled.

That's the most annoying thing about vampires. Even when they look bad, they look good. It's like the difference between disheveled and just plain gross.

"Do I want to know?"

"I don't know, do you, Josef?"

"Why are you not afraid of me?" Well, because you look twenty and act ten. Actually, a reasonably sizable part of me wants to poke him in the nose. Just to see what would happen.

Oh relax, you prude, I'm not actually going to _do_ it.

"You assume I'm not."

"I can smell that you're not."

"Please get out of my cerebral cortex."

"Hm?" Well, now I just want to thwack him upside the head. What do you mean, hm?

_Well, I think he means 'hm'._

Oh no.

_What?_

We're not _doing_ this again.

_You can't shut me out forever._

Did I say forever? Now, get back in your box.

"I may not be physically afraid of you, but you've lulled yourself into a false sense of security."

"I'm intrigued. Please explain further." He's mocking me. Don't make me start speaking Science, youngin'. You will be _crying_ in a _corner_.

"Do you know what desensitization means?"

"Yes." Can you spell it? What is it's country of origin? Please explain the history of the word in one hundred words or less.

He seems to be waiting for a further explanation. Or, another vocab question. I don't…whatever.

"Well…yeah. Desensitization. You're not the scariest vampire in the world."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Depends."

"So you aren't at all scared that I might rip your throat out at any moment?"

"Not in the least. Suck it, vampire." He quirks an eyebrow, eyes raking my body before returning to my face.

"I wish."

XXX

"Okay, you're cheating."

"Beth, I'm not cheating." She glares.

"Mick, you are cheating."

"How am I cheating?"

"I don't know! Don't vampires have…" Mick raises his eyebrows at her (?) from across the table. Well, table is a bit of an exaggeration. It's barely a foot off the ground.

"X-ray vision or something?" Mick fights back a smile.

"I feel like we've been through this."

I've never realized how easy it is to watch banter. It's so cute. The little back and forth conversational ping pong game, and I'm on the sidelines. No effort on my part whatsoever. Stuff happens.

"Not eyesight!"

"Yes eyesight."

"Nuh uh. You never…" Mick chuckles and looks back down to the set of cards in his hand.

"Do you have any…sevens?" Beth just stares at him.

"Beth?" Beth just stares at him.

"Do you have any sevens?" Beth just stares at him.

"Beth!"

"You _so_ are cheating!" She grumbles, tossing a pair of sevens of the desk.

"Do you have any…any…"

"Use your words, Beth." She giggles.

"Fine. Any jacks?"

"Go fish." She snorts and shuffles the cards around a bit before picking one from the pile.

Guess who's winning.

"D - Fine. I forfeit." I'd tell her not to, but it's eighteen to three. There's just no coming back from that. She drops her cards on the pile and turns to me.

"So, Johnny, what's the deal with Ben?" All hail the Random Queen. What the…what the? I don't know.

"He's…what do you mean, what's the deal?" Beth and Mick exchange glances.

"Well…shouldn't he be…feral, without a sire? I mean, I know that you're trying really hard, but I thought that they formed a special…bond…or…I don't know. I just thought that they couldn't survive without them." I'ma let you down easy, girl.

Vispus are better. Sorry. But, true.

"He's an Asian vampire. Their control is…a lot better. To say the least." I could also tell you all the other superior traits they have, but you vampires are so fond of talking about useless humans I'm not sure how well you'd deal with being the inferior ones.

"So he's just…he's like, normal?"

"Yes. He's like normal. Not quite normal, but still, he's about as close to normal as you can get." Beth rolls her eyes. Well, Random Queen, see how you deal with Sarcasmo!

"So you're saying that vispus are…extremely different from us?" Mick eyes me, scrutinizing.

"Different is one way of putting in." Mort interjects. I feel like we've had this conversation. Haven't we had this conversation? We've so had this conversation.

Somebody coughs.

"So…how's Josef?"

"He's Josef. What do you think?" Mick chortles and catches Beth's attention.

"That means he's…fine." Right now, just to freak them out, I want to say 'Oh, he's more than _fine_.' in a shmexy voice.

"So, when's the next…how do we deal with the…um…" Beth nervously looks and Mordecai. Thing is, and I have no doubt that she's only ever been used to this, but drama's not his thing.

"Rogue vampire that kidnapped Ben and I, knocked us unconscious, staked us and set us free after listening to Johnny's speech?" Is he…he's giggling. Mort. Quit it. You're making the blonde uncomfortable.

"Uh – uh…I…yes. What do we…" Mick holds up a hand.

"I took the liberty of checking it out on my own last night."

"You did?" Mort looks kind of indignant. Come to think of it, how'd he not even notice?

I guess that was kind of my fault. He does have apple breath, you know.

Did I say that out loud?

No?

Good.

"Mick! He could have gotten you too!"

"I doubt it."

"Are you an idiot?!" Beth looks extremely distressed. Why? It's like reading a story in past tense. If it already happened, you kind of have to assume that the narrator is still alive.

"Beth, I could tell there was nothing left in the building. He used it for what I assume he meant to use it for. He's moved on, probably for this very purpose."

"But still…you went alone!" I bet you anything that Bolt followed him. Like I said, he just protects. If he saw Mighty Mick traipsing along on his white horse to save the villagers, he would have stalked him through the forest, over the river and off the grandmother's…house…we go…he went.

Anyway.

"So did you find anything?" I guess her curiosity got the better of her.

"It's more interesting what I didn't find: the rooms had been scrubbed clean with bleach and ammonia." He wrinkles his nose, just thinking about it. I suppose a scent offensive to human nostrils would be near unbearable to a vampire.

"Not even like he was covering up evidence. The place was hospital clean, beyond reason clean." Mort, who is at the moment seated on the carpet leaning against the couch, tenses.

"It was more than hospital clean."

"Huh?"

"It was Pollox clean."

A/N: Does that count as an evil cliffhanger? I suppose you'd have to know who Pollox is, if you didn't pick up on the hints I think are in this story…I think? I hope. In theory. Hush the lot of you. So, there! HaHA! My pitiful, sad little contribution to the world! Um.

Reviews feed ze plot bunnies! And, as always, I love questions. Questions show the teacher you're paying attention! Attention is good to!

(\ /)

(0.o)

(o o)

(")(")


	16. Before We Return, A Message From AORTA

Disclaimer: Make it last, folks. Last one for a few days. I own only my shredded dignity!

No one says anything for a few moments that seem to last an eternity. Come to think of it, do they even know who Pollox is? I seem to remember mentioning his name a few times, but not all that often…Hm.

"What do you mean, Pollox clean?" Mick's voice is barely above a whisper, muffled itself by the deafening silence. Deafening silence. Deafening silence. DefINING silence. Man, I'm awesome.

But, then again, not really. I'm actually an Aries.

"Johnny." I'm being called to attention. Guess he can't answer. What happened to 'the past finished catching up with me'?

"We…Pollox is like the benefactor of the scary vampire government." The SVG, if you please.

"He…started the whole thing. Kind of paranoid, devoted to keeping this the one secret that won't be exploited. Always had sort of a curiosity about vampires from the start, then he became one and…and…" Mort can't even finish the sentence.

"It's okay. We get it." Mick and Beth exchange glances.

"So…we'll leave you two to…plan." Aw. But I want to cry on your shoulder, Mickey. Gargle sniff.

Yeah, you'd better run.

Right, 'case you didn't get that…they left. Just now. Buh-bye, loveys.

"Mort?" I scoot over on the couch so I can be closer to him. His eyes haven't left the ground, though he doesn't seem to be staring at it as a way of not looking at anything else. More like he's wondering what made That Stain.

"We're gonna need a lot of dirt. Dirt and leaves."

"Mort. Narrate all of your thoughts out loud or none at all." He looks up at me and grins weakly.

"You know, he only looks like he's nineteen years old. But he's five hundred."

"He's younger than you? Then how's he got enough money for all this?"

"What makes you think I don't?"

"You live in an abandoned high school."

"I don't like attention." I swing my legs to the other side of my body to lie on my belly, back to the sky and our faces closer.

"You live. In an abandoned high school."

"If I lived in a mansion would you still want to spend any time with me?" He…he has a point. I'm kind of anti-shallow in that respect. Hmm.

"Oh, woop."

"Woop?"

"Yeah."

"Indeed." I reach out and brush my hand on his shoulder.

"You okay?"

"Have we not had the emotionless robot conversation?"

"You don't talk about him much."

"You want me to?"

"A little." He turns his head to look at me. His eyes, though catatonic, search mine. His hand, though freezing, grasps mine in a warm affirmation of friendship. And his voice, though cold, paints me a story I never thought I'd hear from him.

"I was the first…well, first one he met. He figured it out pretty quick. He was a smart kid.

"This was before I met you. For the first time, that is, nearly…five hundred, five-fifty years ago? Sounds right. Anyway, I won't bore you with details…um. So, I started to mentor him. In…physics…but, you don't really need to know much about that. So he…he uh…" I'd like to say his voice is wracked from pain. But, he looks kind of zoned out. More like 'okay, what would the next big milestone be anyway' than 'this is painful to recount'.

"Oh! Got it. He wasn't so interested in physics, more biology. He wanted to know how vampires worked. I resisted." Which is amusing. Mort says the only reason he started to even bother with vampire biology was because a certain girl four hundred years ago asked him how they worked…Gee, I feel so special. Smiley face.

"So he found other ones, volunteers, mostly unipartas…a few bipartas. Those bipartas at one point had a fight. He got in the middle, one of them felt guilty about almost killing him so instead turned him.

"Over the years we stayed in vague contact. And I guess when he'd decided he had enough cash to fill his mansions he started recruiting…well, yeah. That's basically it." Is that dramatic? Doesn't sound so dramatic as vampire drama goes. No unrequited love, no sinister villains…Nope. Guilt…a little angst…money. Yeah, that's more like vampire kiddy fiction.

He chuckles a little.

"He always did like to be clean."

"This doesn't make any sense."

"Why not?"

"If he's a biparta, why's Ben a vispus? And why did he say that the guy who got him was bald?" Mort rolls his eyes. Well excuse me for not being up to date on all of the insider vampire…things!

Actually, I should be.

"He's got minions, you idiot."

"How is he controlling a three thousand year old vispus?" Mort glares.

"I –" He stiffens.

"He's not. It's controlling him." His grip on my hand slackens, gaze tumbling to the ground with horrid realization.

"We have to kill Pollox." I say quietly.

"Well, this sucks buttons, don't it?"

"Yeah, a little." He grins at me.

"But, at least if we die we die young."

"Ish." We shouldn't really be giggling. Okay, I'll edit our conversation to the proper standards of building up to the part where everything goes to shit:

'We could die tomorrow!' Mort whispers.

'Oh no! What shall we do?'

'We may have only this one night left together!'

'Oh Mort!'

'Oh Joanna!'

'I love you!'

'I love you as well in addition too!'

'Some bullshit about comets and stars and suns and general planetary objects and maybe the moon! Gosh you're pretty!'

None of this is happening, mind you, I'm just satisfying the Association Of Redundant Travesties of Adoring (AORTA).

We shall now return to our scheduled programming.

"So, dirt and leaves?"

"Mmhm. They cover the smell."

"But we don't know where we're going."

"Correction: you don't. I know where he lives and that he's probably not onto us knowing!"

"Where's he live?"

"Washington."

"Well, shit."

"No! We can call him and talk to him and stuff."

"And say what?"

"I don't know. 'There's something interesting up here you should see'. Something to do with vampire biology. Use the biparta and unipartas as bait."

"Mort!"

"What?"

"That's awful!"

"Well, they'd _agree_ to it first." He huffs. I'm terribly sorry about the fact that we don't take things seriously. Just, well, come on. You guys know me. Nobody's dying, nobody's doom is impending yet, we just lure him up here and find out who he's being controlled by and then…deal with it. I don't know. Somehow.

'Course then we'll need a new Pollox because we can't trust him.

It's much better to have a plan, isn't it? Makes me feel like everything's been taken care of for once. It's a nice feeling, really.

Of course then there's that other thing.

"So are we going to talk about the other thing?"

"I was assuming no."

"Why?"

"Cause you never brought it up." A millennium old or not, you are incredibly thick skulled. Pew! The Sarcasmo Gun shall smoke tonight!

"Oh, well, if I never said anything that must mean we should just keep blatantly ignoring it, right?"

"What?! What do you want me to do?" Well, I want you to do it again. Not like I'm going to say THAT out loud. Can't you read body language?

"I don't know. You decide."

"I decide that you should decide."

"I'm sending it back to you and you can't send it back to me no matter what!" Damn, I'm good.

He pauses. "…damnit! That was airtight!"

"You know it." I sigh and roll over on to my back.

"Wanna play chess?"

XXX

I hook my arm around his neck from my position of lying down on the couch, resting my chin on his shoulder.

"Squawk."

"Hello, Polly."

"You were a pirate, right?"

"Privateer, actually."

"So you were a legal pirate."

"Legal's not the first word that comes to mind."

"I love that you were a pirate." I inhale in preparation for a sigh, reveling in the scent of soap and old paper.

"You think maybe we should tell them?" His head swivels in my grasp to look at me as best he can.

"Not yet. Let's just see if we can't deal with this ourselves."

"You didn't invite them up here as bait, did you?"

"Of course not! It's just, if it's actually…Pollox…I'd like to see if I can get away with not killing him." His gaze softens.

"Aw, sweetie." I give him a quick peck on the temple before getting up.

"Let's go back to the dance hall?"

XXX

"Ms. Lovett, would you join me in this dance?" He holds out his arm.

"You idiot, we're here to investigate, not dance." He pouts.

"You scorn my advances."

"Indeed. You need an gross income higher than…"

"I think the term you're looking for is 'a lot of money'."

"Higher than eighty bajillion dollars annually to dance with me!" The place isn't so scary when you've come complete with vampire and hellhound. Bolt's going kind of nuts, seeing as he's got the best nose EVAH and can smell all the stuff that happened here, even before the ammonia and bleach were applied.

Wood paneling adorns the halls, though the rooms design themes vary depending on, I assume, the type of dancing intended. Ballerina pink to flamenco red had been dashed along walls blindingly, in some cases even on the floor, ceiling and bar. I'm getting headaches.

Even I can smell the cleaning products. Clean, efficient, offensive. Inhuman, almost.

"Why would he clean it so thoroughly?" Mort winces.

"He's kind of a germaphobe. He's also paranoid: if no one can smell him, he can't be found."

"But you can smell him."

"Well, Bolt can. Probably one of very few organisms in the world with that talent."

"I guess hell did have it's advantages." Bolt whines. I suppose it was naïve to think that Beelzebub's pet can't understand language.

We are, at the moment, in a room that seems to branch off into all of the other rooms. Marble has been laid and polished on the floor, pillars arch themselves towards the sky just around the circumference, looking cramped and constrained and offended by the very idea that a ceiling could stop them. My footsteps echo hauntingly with every step I take, ringing through the empty building like a final plea for one last dance.

Mort, of course, makes no sound whatsoever. He does move closer to me, however, gaze darting to and fro like he's expecting evil tango ghosts to come out the walls and start Shaking That Thing.

By god, they will start Shaking That Thing.

"What's the point of coming here?"

"Closure." And here I thought we were actually doing something useful. What's he mean, closure? What, say goodbye to the walls? Let them know that he's found other walls, but he wishes these walls happiness and wellbeing and to find a vampire of their very own someday?

"Closure on what, exactly?" There's a sound from the end of the hall.

My heart skips a beat.

"Beth, you can come out. I can smell you."

"Darn it! How?"

"You're wearing perfume. You were kind of asking for it." She winces as she steps out from behind one of the pillars. Okay, she's wearing heels. In what world is it a good idea to wear heels on marble floors when you're trying to be stealthy?

"I'm sorry! It's just, I thought maybe since the smell was so strong that Mick had been distracted and missed a few important details and maybe I'd be able to find something."

"And did you?" The two of us ask in unison.

"Just this." She hurries over, heels click-click-a-clacking on the floor, louder and more offensive than my pseudo-elf-boots. I'm sorry, but they're like a cross between elf and pirate boots. How could I not?

Her arm outstretched, I notice a small bit of paper fluttering in time with her steps. As soon as she's close enough, Mort snatches it out of her hand and scrutinizes it.

"This is a Staples' business card."

"That's what I said." Mort and I exchange glances. No, I'm sorry, whoever chooses Staples as a secret hideaway is awesome. I don't even care.

A/N: ((It's a long one today)) So, hopefully, in the next few days when I'm isolated and not nearly alone enough for my tastes in the cold, cold world (and not in Canada with my loon and beaver and moose...haw, phooey), I'll come up with some better stuff and figure out how the hell I'm ever even going to come close to writing an actual mushy scene.

One thing I'd like to address before it even becomes and issue: Johnny is not a Mary Sue (at least, she's not supposed to be). Her main issue is taking things seriously: she doesn't deal well with drama or actual, sincere feelings, and in times of actual crisis tends to make jokes. Does that count as a flaw? Oh, and of course there's the whole refusal of relationship-ness to contend with. Woop.

And, I'm sad now. Because I'd really like to also write a prequel (from Mort's POV), but the only Moonlight character it would even include is Mick (pre-Beth). So, I'll just let that one die in my head. Don't you worry your pretty little minds. It's happened before and it'll happen again! Hee.

And, don't worry, there are more evil plot twists along the way. Evil in theory, you see. Don't even get me STAHTED on the evil debate (what is evil? Who defines evil? Blah, blah, blah).

I know. Rant much? Just figured I'd get this out before having to (cry sob) deal with them people who think that writing anything you don't desperately have to is pointless! Excuse me, but my mind doodles are eighty seven pages long and counting and I am PROUD OF IT. I should make that a banner.

:give-command:---endrant---:


	17. But You Always Have Villains In Stock!

Disclaimer: Whew! If this is what happens every time I leave for three days, I ought to half kill myself more often! I really appreciate everyone's support and the lack of replies etc. is due to my being a lazy bum and the fact that this chapter is reasonably long. So.

That was an awkward few minutes. The drive home, that is. One of these days, someone should write an etiquette book that illustrates how to act and react in the most ridiculous and unlikely circumstances.

Like this one.

Insert awkward cough here.

….Wow, Beth, I wasn't actually serious.

"So begins the plotting?" I venture, somewhat unsuccessfully.

"What plotting?" Dude.

You're messin' up my mojo.

"It's a…it's like a P-" Crap. "A thing from our jobs."

Not much better. Mort is looking rather upset now. Well, more huffy.

"Oh." Beth's feeling a little bit left out and or shunned.

"So, what do we do about the Staples card?" Mort's pinched it in between two fingers, worrying the corner into frays.

"Well, I was going to suggest we check it for prints until you decided to play Patty Cake with it." Mort glances at me and sticks his tongue out.

Beth giggles.

"Not funny!"

"So funny."

"It was kind of funny." I glare at Beth.

And Mort starts giggling.

"I will punch your lights out. The both of y-"

"Hey guys." What?! The last thing that Mordecai B. needs is more backup.

Effing Canadians.

"Hey Vicki." But I do sound so very, very pleasant.

"So what's everybody doing?" I'm sorry, did you miss the part where the vampires were held captive? Because I thought that was rather obvious.

"Talking." Mordecai, Master of the Vague.

"'Bout what?"

"Work stuff." We exchange glances. Neither of us wants to let any more than necessary in on this detrimental information.

Yeah, we're _those_ guys.

"What kind of work stuff?" Go play with your vampire, young lady.

"Just, I need more pens. I have to go to Staples. Mordecai, would you care to join me?" If he says no, he is so dead tonight. I mean he is SO dead.

Well, more than usual.

"I guess. Vicki?"

"Yeah?" Oh, no. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no.

"Would you like to come with us?" Please say no please say no please say no.

Her eyes dart from one of us to the other, unsure. I'm hoping she realizes that it was a courtesy offer and that Beth isn't insulted because the truth is I'm an ALONE TIME person. If I feel the need for alone time, I had better freaking get it. The only person (and I mean the ONLY PERSON) allowed to be near me during alone time is Mort.

And that's only if he talks as little as possible.

I take alone time very seriously.

"Nah, that's okay. I'll just…stay here. With Beth." And by Beth she means Henry.

XXX

You know that jackass that always seems to be near your house/apartment/hole in the ground/whatever in his shiny black car? The one that feels the need to blast loud, offensive music out of open windows?

We're stuck behind him on a highway.

"Are you sure we're headed for the right Staples? There's more than one, you know."

"Joanna. I am old and have lived much longer than you. Don't be condescending with your condescending voice." I love that I have a condescending voice.

"I'm sorry. I'll be smarter next time."

"Who is this jackass with the milkshake song?" You see? This is why he's allowed during alone time. We think the same things.

"Well, his name is Albert Russenhoff and he comes from northern Montana. He has a wife and three children and a dog named Larry."

"Haha."

"Seriously, I think this song is older than you are."

"Considering the amount of times it has permeated my brain, I'm inclined to agree with you." Mort smiles and adjusts his hands on the steering wheel.

He drives a smart car. I love this guy.

I didn't even know he could _fit_ in a smart car.

Though to be fair, I'm a bit scared that someone in a Hummer and/or SUV will run us over. Really, I'm fairly certain the only reasoned we escaped that other time was just because the truck swerved due to a pothole in the road.

"So we're going to Staples?"

…

…

…

Who put Henry in the back?!

"Yes, we're going to Staples. I don't suppose you'd like to join us, Mr. Fitzroy?"

"Well, if it's not too much trouble." I, personally, would like to chuck him out a window into a forest fire at the moment.

"Hang on."

"Yes, Johnny?"

"Is anyone else back there with you?"

"What, besides Larry the dog?" Oh, you think you're just so funny, don't you?

I bet Mort could smell him the whole time. I hate them. I them both.

"Yes, besides Larry the dog." Actually, I kind of wish we'd brought Bolt.

"No. I'm you're only…hitchhiker."

"Hmph." Mort frowns.

"Why exactly did you come?" Henry smirks in that little snooty royalty way.

"Because. I needed new drawing pencils."

"You could have _asked_." Henry tilts his head to the side, violence inducing smile still plastered firmly to his face.

"But it wouldn't be any _fun_ just _asking_, would it?"

"Yes it would have. It would have been a lot more fun. For us." Mort, whose eyes have remained firmly glued to the road, chances a conspiratorial glance in my direction.

Henry clicks his tongue.

No, no, Mort is right. All the European vampires are assholes. I'm not much of a one for profane language, but really. It's not a stereotype. They are _all_ _assholes_.

XXX

You know the best part of working for the scary vampire government? Harassing Staples guys. Nothing can compare to the joy of harassing Staples guys. Best stress reliever of everything ever.

"Excuse me? Excuse me!" Over comes a blue-vested patron of the office supplies parasite known as Staples.

"Can I help you?" He sounds extremely tired and not-too-pleased to be talking to people.

"Do you have a backroom?" I glare at Mort.

_And you tease me for being blunt._

**Hey, after a thousand years you get tired of beating around the bush!**

_Excuse me, bush whacking is a favorite past time of mine._

**What? What'd I do?**

_Well, our intentions are now pretty clear. Wouldn't you say?_

**No! Maybe we're…packing people!**

_Clearly. Because my Wellies and sweater are regulation, right?_

Wait a minute. Is that you, unconscious thought bubble?

_No._

Just checking.

_That's okay. I don't mind._

"Why…why do you want to see the back room? We have everything you need for the home office right…right here!" He waves a shaky arm around the building, voice trembling. I feel like he's reading this off of the big Staples poster behind us or something.

"Well, I have been needing some new pens." I mutter under my breath. Mort glares daggers at me.

"Come on, buddy!" I hook my arm into his and drag him down into the writing implements isle before peeking between the racks to see if Henry can get a cough reading from him.

I see him put his hands on either side of the boy's face (whom I have named Fillip, with an F), and watch as his eyes become pure, uninterrupted black pools.

I turn away, gripping the shelf, knuckles white from the strain.

"Johnny? Sweetie, you alright?" Mort anticipates a falling on my part, putting his arm under my shoulders.

"Okay, I'm not a complete invalid. I just don't like that thing."

"What, the mind control thing?"

"Uh huh." He grins.

"Want me to explain how –"

"No." He pouts.

"Fine. You only get ball point pens."

"Was there an alternative?"

"Fountain?"

"Ew, no." I glance back around past Mort's neck and see Henry release the boy, heading for us.

"I found the back room."

"Do there happen to be any science-minded evil bald villains in stock?"

"Somehow I forgot to ask."

XXX

Turns out there aren't any evil bald villains in stock. They literally just ran out. Man! I always come too late!

_Well, there was that one time…_

Shut up. Go away.

_But you said –_

No.

It's a rather generic stock room – grey weathered concrete, suspicious stains, industrial sized everything packs. The ceiling is impossibly high, the shelves themselves almost reaching the top. Everything seems to stare down at you, blatantly ignoring, ignorant to your presence. Gives me the chills.

No blood stains, though.

"Anything?" I ask in general. There's no one back here anyway.

"Sawdust." Mort answers simply.

"Regular dust." Henry adds.

"I though regular dust was particles of dirt, skin and food under one three-hundred-somethingth of a millimeter?"

"Yes."

"So, doesn't each kind of dust have a unique scent?" Henry stares at me for a few seconds.

Mort leans over to him.

"Don't dumb things down for her. Ever." He snorts.

"Well sor-ry."

"You ought to be." Hee. Vampire Mort to the rescue!

"So, other than dust…what else?"

"Somebody spilled cranberry juice." Mort makes eye contact with me. One time, ONE TIME I mix up cranberry juice and blood and he just can't let it go, can he? No, no, he has to keep on bringing it up. Stupid superior pseudo hominids.

I just wiggle my eyebrows at him Johnny fashion (I call it 'the wave') and hold my hand up to my mouth, fake glugging alcohol-laced blood. Haha. I can play too.

He just smiles and shakes his head in my general vicinity.

"There's…something else." Henry mutters, almost to himself. Closing his eyes, he puts his nose to the air. Following his super shnoz, he enters one of the isles, running his hands down the shelves at shoulder level. To a certain extent he's showing off.

"Well I thought about the army – dad said son you're f—king high!

And I thought – yeah there's a first for everything!

So I took my old man's advice!" I love Ben Folds. I figure if Henry gets pissed at me, too bad. It's my alone time, buddy. You should learn to leave me alone. And Mort won't mind anyway – he's used to this.

"Three sad semesters – it was only fifteen grand!

Spent in bed I thought about the army…

I dropped out and joined a band instead." I mimic the piano solo on the recording with my hands, and Henry's still ignoring me. Well, trying to. He's slowed down considerably.

Mort, however, has taken it as theme music zooms on past Henry instead of making a show of it.

"Grew a mustache and a beard!" For this I receive a weird look.

"Got a job at Chick Filet!

I been thinkin' a lot today…

Wooaaaah-o think I'll write a screenplay!

Wooaaaah-o think I'll take it to LA!

Wooaaaah-o think I'll get it done yesterday!" Henry turns around, crosses his arms, approaching me with the stolid stare of a praying mantis.

Thing is, I'm almost as tall as he is. So the desired effect is somewhat lost on me already, coupled with the fact that I have, at times, out stared Mort the six-and-a-half-foot tall generally-scary-person, so compared to him Henry might as well be a toddler.

"Well I'm finished. You don't need to give me the stare of doom." He grinds his teeth.

"Go on." I wave my arm in the direction of the back. He growls slightly before zipping back to where Mort has already found the clue and is trying to figure out the riddle. Oh no! He's ahead of you! Work fast!

Really, hon?

Very careful not to rush, I half-jog towards where the two of them are leaning over some generic crate.

I'm not kidding, if there's a little envelope labeled _Clue #1_ I shall scream. I am not doing one of those again. No bloody way.

"What is it?" They both look up at me.

"Ink."

"Well, an ink stain."

"Same difference."

"I suppose."

"What relevance does it have?"

"The ink…is handmade. Not the kind you'd buy in pen refills. More, tree bark and blueberries." Henry tells me.

"Is that bad?"

"Not necessarily. It just means that it's likely he or she was here."

"He."

"What?"

"It's definitely a he." Even as I say the words I feel a chill pour down my spine and spill into the rest of my body, blossoming on my head.

XXX

"…nope."

"No? What do you mean no?"

"I don't feel any different!" Except for the fact that there's black sand or something on my tongue now. Blech. Gross.

"How am I supposed to feel?"

"Well…" Beth frowns. "Like…like you can do anything, feel everything and everyone around you…details you never would have noticed normally. Like everything is amazingly intense."

I look from Beth, to Vicki, to Beth, to Vicki again.

"You guys don't normally feel like that?"

"Like, more than usual!"

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying. Super intense. That's not normal?" Vicki frowns.

"What? No!"

"Oh." I have got to spend less time around vampires.

"So…you just feel fine?"

"Uh huh." Beth frowns now. "Damnit!"

"What?"

"Josef was right! It doesn't affect you at all!"

"I'm sorry. If it makes you feel better I can act like a high idiot."

"That's okay. Thanks, though." My back is killing me, though. I don't know why that's important to note.

"Wait, let me see." Before anyone can stop her, Vicki's downed a good eight of a teaspoon of the stuff.

"Huh. It doesn't taste very good."

"Vicki! What the hell! Do you know how long that much will take to stop affecting you?" Vicki giggles and shakes her head.

"It's not – whoa." She pauses, frowning, holding her hand to her forehead.

"You see? Ohmigod. What if Mick finds out? He'll be furious! Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod –"

"Beth."

"What?!"

"Calm down." Beth stares at me, hands shaking visibly. "Calm…down?! Do you know that stuff is vampire blood? I was just seeing the extent of it's affect because I wanted to make sure that-"

"I know. You just don't feel like Mick will get it. I get it. So, you just go and distract Mick for a little while." She stares at me a little bit more.

"Distract how?" I roll my eyes.

"Right. You can't think of any way, huh?" Her eyes widen.

"But-"

"I'd like to hear your better idea." Still shaking a bit, Beth stands.

The door closes like the lid of a coffin.

"Vicki?" I try. She's still swaying a little. Back and forth. Back and…forth. Back and…back. And more back.

Crap!

I barely catch her in the to prevent her head from smacking into the door frame of the bathroom.

"I'm…fine. I'm just _fine_." She smiles dopily at me.

I just regard her for a moment. "I'm getting Henry."

XXX

This was a very long day. I have never been more glad to get under these covers than I am tonight. Beth and Mick still aren't back, and as far as I can tell Henry had to put Vicki to bed like a little toddler. Brushing her teeth and tucking her in.

And I don't want to know what else.

I fully cocoon myself, wrapping the blankets even tighter, inhaling. It almost smells like a dentist's office in here – the sharp of business covered by the soft of people.

"So vampire blood, huh? You could have just asked." I roll over.

"Hey Mort."

"Hey sweetie." He's seated himself in the chair right next to my bed, legs draped over one side stylishly and hands folded neatly on his stomach.

"You need something?" He doesn't answer me.

With words.

Instead he leans forward again to lie down next to me.

"I was just thinking."

"About what?" He lays his head on the pillow and puts his arm around me, staring at it rather absently.

"Do think there's a reason this tattoo never faded?" He whispers, staring at his number.

I'm almost afraid to touch it. Almost like it's…not holy, exactly. But…unreal. Like if I acknowledge it, it will make me personally connected to all the hatred. Like it will have to become more than horrifying footage and heartbreaking stories.

But I reach out and trace the numbers, very slowly.

"Yes." He looks at me, eyes bloodshot, before burying his head in the pillow.

"I couldn't do anything." His voice is choked by the cloth.

"I tried. I tried to break some of us out. They just shot them. All of them. Without even thinking about it." He looks back up again, blinking back tears.

"They were already dead before it happened. They were walking corpses, Johnny." I can feel myself tearing up as his own sadness shrivels back to that tiny, too-small corner of his mind where he keeps it.

I hug him, squeezing tight, burying my face in his neck. I feel him squeeze right back, harder than he knows he really should. I don't mind.

"Sorry." He laughs a little and releases me. "I'm done now. Um."

"'S okay." I don't actually feel ready to let go of him yet.

"Johnny?"

"Yep?"

"You can let go."

"Sorry." I release him.

"Is that all you came in here for?"

"No."

A/N: So I left the ending extremely open for whatever it is that I feel like doing from here. Clearly, input be necessary. Feed the plot bunnies, folks.

And now comes the rant.

We watched Mean Girls on the way back.

Mean Girls.

Let me reiterate: MEAN GIRLS.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!?!


	18. Now With 35 Percent More Plotting

Disclaimer: They ran all out of Moonlights at my local hardware store. As a result, I have not obtained ownership of it.

A/N: Okay, so, no actual Moonlight characters appearance here (though some plot…stuff is…explained isn't the right word…) But! They are mentioned a little. Anyway, hopefully I'll spend more time on the next chapter instead of just mind doodling!

"Is that all you came in here for?"

"No."

"Then what, praytell, is it that you want?" He doesn't answer me, instead propping himself up on one arm and cocking his head to the side curiously, as if it should be blatantly obvious. Well then, I should just keep mocking him, right?

"You know, you made your bed. Maybe you should sleep in it for once." He chuckles. The anticipation of the silence dissolves slowly, from anxious to bored in a matter of moments. Absently, I start chewing the inside of my cheek. 

In case you haven't picked up on this, we're having a staring contest with blinks allowed. I shift my head on my pillow, sinking lower into the smell of linen and shampoo. 

"Am I being kicked out?"

"Not necessarily. Impress me. Then you stay." I answer. He stares down at me, though in his eyes I see the reflection of the numbers on my alarm clock. Somehow, though this makes no sense whatsoever, it seems like that light makes the shadows around it darker. Like they've sucked what little light there is in the atmosphere out of the immediate air. 

In a surreal motion, his left arm – the free one – is on my other side. And he's right above me.

"What constitutes impressing you?"

"I don't know yet." My voice is surprisingly soft, my heart in my ears.

He leans forward cautiously, the corners of his mouth repelling each other into a broader and broader smile until he's less than an inch away.

"Dumb kids picking cacti on Friday get stuck." Yeah. Yeah, he rules. Or, he rulez. With a z. Somehow, despite reasoning, he knows exactly what to say. He's never quoted poetry at me. To me, poetry is a deadly weapon which I avoid as much as possible when it's being perceived as a tool in romance. Nope. Science speak.

"Domain, kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species." I reply, smiling against his mouth.

"You always were good at pneumonic devices." He murmurs. I love that word. Murmur. The way it's just a repeat of the same syllable…over and over again. 'murmurmurmurmur…' Mermer. Nope. No improving it. Two 'murs' is just the right amount. Murmur.

Yes, yes I'm trying to distract myself from the situation at hand. Who wouldn't? Honestly. I am not. Comfortable. With. Physical contact.

I feel one of his hands work its way down my waist, tracing an invisible line past my hip to my lower abdomen and hovering there, drawing unseen concentric circles, twirling in and out and back in again…

Then again, maybe it's not so bad.

Um.

I feel my breathing become more ragged, and am once again reminded of how vampires conveniently never need to breath. And this is getting bizarrely annoying because his hand is perfectly cool, and the face pressed so close to mine is not suffering in the least from the shortness of breath I am afflicted with.

That would be such a great ad (said in those smooth public radio voices and/or a pharmaceutical drug commercial narrator): Close physical contact with your vampire may result in shortness of breath, inability to concentrate, and lack of sensible thought. Carpe diem syndrome was present in over half of the cases, though not all were reported as a bad side affect. 

Unable to take it anymore, because it's starting to tickle, I contract the muscles of my abdomen, tugging my t shirt back over the section of stomach he's exposed.

So he resorts to a much more direct tactic. Mainly being attacking my mouth with his.

Out of pure natural instinct, I tangle my hands in his hair, elating in the taste of granny smith apples on his breath – that sweet, milky, tart taste. 

I inhale deeply through my nose, unwilling to break away. I feel, subconsciously almost, as my hands roam across his chest and around his back, tracing bundles of rolling muscle, my hands itching to remove his shirt.

WHOA THERE, YOUNG MISSY. I gotta relax here. I may not know much about myself, but I'm not perverted. Control!

_You know you want to._

Of all the times, you pick now?

_You have work to do. You can do it tomorrow. Are you saying you have something better to do tonight?_

Are you saying I'm a hormonal teenager with no control over her whims?

_Well, when you say it like that it just makes you sound horny._

Right, yeah, there's totally a deeper meaning to me wanting to take his shirt off.

_Maybe. You two certainly seem to keep finding each other._

Oh, not the reincarnation thing _again_!

_Dear, it's an argument all on it's own._

Well yeah, but I mean sheesh. Get some new arguments!

_You two fit like a marker and it's cap._

Oh…oh god. Please tell me that wasn't an innuendo.

_My. You do have a sick mind._

Yeah. Never said I didn't.

Okay. I seem to have gotten control (thank you, unconscious thought bubble!)

_Damnit!_

and I place my hands on his pectoral muscles, pushing him away. Luckily, he doesn't press it, though his arms do not move from either side of my body, forming a cage of sorts.

"So, do I get to stay?" I'd answer him, but I'm still trying to pant without making it obvious (which is difficult when the vampire in question is ten inches above you), also trying not to visibly sweat. Also fighting the urge to bear my neck.

After struggling for calm breath, all the while him watching me, I unhook my arms from around him and turn to my side.

"Get in." I grumble.

"Yes!" He whispers triumphantly in my ear. It feels like he gives it a playful nip, but I could be imagining that.

I feel the bed bounce up and down as he situates himself in the covers, wrapping one arm around my waist. I let my arm rest in the crook of that one, and as a response to my response he pulls me tighter against his chest, and I feel every outline of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt. Which, in itself, is much more comfortable than I'd ever anticipated.

It's not that we'd never been this close before, but for once I have all night to think about it. And it's only midnight. 

…and Mick and Beth still aren't back yet. At least, not in a way that my human ears can hear. Well, my slightly vamped human ears, but still. It furthers my point.

Anyway, I'd always imagined that his chest would be all rock hard. Abs of steel, et cetera. But it's somehow…well, it's still _hard_, but not that hard. I mean, it is, but it's still more comfortable than having a sleepover with a marble statue. 

"You're okay with it being this dark?" He whispers.

"Yeah. You must be rubbing off on me." I reply.

"Hmm." He replies thoughtfully. 

"So what next?"

"What 'what next'?"

"In the immediate future. What do we do now?"

"When you say immediate future, do you mean the next few minutes…" He grins. "Or tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, you dimwit." I thwack him on the chest.

"Well, Ben will probably be still asleep. I'd prefer to both identify the vampire running this operation and wait for Ben to wake up before we take any…action."

"And when we do take this…action, what action will it be?" I feel him tense behind me. I curl and uncurl my fingers on his arm, in a vain attempt at soothing.

"We find out what they want, and dangle it in front of them. Until they come after us." He means we need to use Ben as bait. To put him in danger again. I know he doesn't say this lightly.

"But first we find out who we're dealing with, right? That might take a while." I tell him as a consolation, though it is a barren one. 

"I suppose." He answers hopelessly. I roll over in his grasp so that we're face to face.

"What did you mean, 'operation'?" He frowns at me.

"Well, if he has Pollox involved, I'm pretty willing to bet that he has other…high status vampires as well. We don't know how far his web spreads." I drag my hands up, previously pinned in front of me, and poke him in the chest.

"You just came in here to plot, didn't you?"

"Among other things." He leans forward and runs his lips along the tip of my nose, eyes shut.

"Ah HA!" I whisper-screech. His eyes shoot open and he pulls back a little to stare me in the face.

"What ah ha?"

"I would survive a turning!" He freezes. He looks more like 'what the hell was that train of thought' than 'oh crap big secret out dramatic moment'. 

"Do I want to know?"

"You said, you're only attracted to people who have the strength and good genes to survive a turning! So, ha!" He sighs.

"That's not something to joke about, Johnny." He tells me. Not only have I ruined the moment, but I have crumpled it and it is now molding over in a corner.

"Sorry." I tell him. 

"That's fine. It's just not a very light topic."

"Oh, and discussing using the fifteen year old as bait then killing a vampire older than you is?"

"I never said we'd kill the vispus!"

"Really? That's a shame. Because I saw a vampire slaying kit on ebay."

"Johnny." Mort groans, exasperated, and fully pulls away. 

"Sorry." I say again, more feeble this time. 

"Yeah." He grumbles, crossing his arms across his chest. Just seeing him like this, so close, but so impossible to reach, just makes me want to get even closer.

"I'm sorry, Mort!" He looks away, but I see his lips twitch.

"You know you can't stay mad at me." He chuckles and shakes his head, looking back.

"Fair enough." He moves closer, once again snaking an arm around my waist. 

He tilts his head a bit, in preparation, and leans forward into me.

"Maybe we can ask Josef if any of his rich old friends have been on the fritz lately." I whisper. He closes his eyes, and I see his jaw tick sullenly.

"Damnit, Johnny!"

_Damnit, Johnny!_

I don't know why I said that. Am I that desperate to avoid a relationship with another vampire?

He pulls away again, and I willingly let him.

"Don't go." He takes a big breath.

"Fine." He flips over on his back to stare at the ceiling discontentedly. 

I roll over on my side to watch the clock tick away the long minutes until sunrise.

A/N: See? I can do it too. Feed the disgruntled plot bunnies!

(\ /)

(0.o)

(o o)

(")(")

And Pete.

AA

(OvO)

( O )

l l


	19. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I tried trading the rights to Moonlight for my cheese sandwich. Didn't work.

A/N: I couldn't resist with the song at the beginning. So very fitting. It's 'Grave Situation Part 2' by The Burning Hell. It doesn't look like it, but the song itself has this sort of mocking tone, not quite as creepy as it looks. I urge you to iTunes it or whatever for thirty seconds.

_See my skin my peel away_

_Right off of my head._

_Look at my cheeks_

_All pulpy and red…_

_They're the same cheeks you kissed_

_When I was a kid._

_So long, so long ago!_

_See my little shriveled hands_

_Like the claws of a bird!_

_I know it sounds crazy –_

_I know it seems absurd!_

_But they're the same hands that touched you and drove you insane…_

_So long, so long ago!_

_These bones…take them in your arms._

_This skin…and touch it one more time –_

_I may be dead, but you're still mine!_

_See my curled up lips pucker up for a kiss._

_See my brittle little hips, see my bony finger tips!_

_The same fingers were crossed when I said "Till death do us part"_

_So long, so long ago!_

_Look at my hair it's out of control!_

_It keeps growin' and growin' O Lord, _

_My soul's trapped in this box_

_And I can do nothing_

_Oh down in this hole!_

_My eyes may be gone, but I can still hear_

_Every word you whisper at the top and the pier!_

_But soon you'll be down here and we'll be together again._

_These bones…_

_Take them in your arms!_

_This skin…and touch it one more time – _

_I may be dead, but you're still mine._

_I may be dead but you're still mine!_

Sometimes, in the mornings, just before I wake up…

I decide to go all self-delusional. I tell myself that I can wake up and go to work or whatever. Chatter with workers at the water cooler all normal-like.

But more often, if I lie just right, I can imagine that Nikolai is right behind me, sleeping soundly. If I shift so that the blankets lie just so, and I close my eyes real tight and concentrate.

I feel the ghost of a livid arm cradle me to an invisible chest and whisper sweet nothings against my hair, waking me up in the gentlest possible way. 

And on very, very rare occasions…I can still smell him, faintly, like the trace of him that will forever linger somewhere deep inside me. A smell like fresh snow peas and rain. Like spring.

God, I miss him so much sometimes.

And that's when I have to open my eyes and remember that his smell is just air freshener, and his arms are just blankets, and that he's somewhere in the bottom of Lake Ontario. 

I wrap my arms around myself and hold back tears. I wish I could take a sick day from hunting evil or whatever. Just spend my day in bed feeling sorry for myself.

"Hey. You're up." My eyes shoot open and I sit directly up in bed, covers falling down around me. Mort's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, as always wearing grey sweats as pajamas.

"Um. Yeah." I reply, drawing my knees to my chest. I can feel them, just on the lips of my eyelids, sweating pain and regret. I feel my lower lip begin to tremble in an effort to not think about it.

"Oh, sweetie, are you okay?" He gushes, rushing over. Though I don't even feel it, the next second, I'm wrapped in him, being hugged to his chest.

I guess that's the catalyst. Because I can't take it anymore. I start to sob, heavy and gasping, choking on depression. 

When I really cry, sincerely, I don't look attractive or brave or whatever it is that people write about in books. My cheeks turn puffy and red, my face looks like a bulldog, I don't hold back. Mort doesn't care at all.

"D-D-…do…does…" I can't get words out as my body convulses once more into sobs.

"It's okay. Take your time. It's okay, sweetie."

I sit there, holding onto his arm, sobbing into his shoulder, for a while. Could have been seconds or minutes or hours or days.

"Does…does i-…it ever stop?" I manage, though it's less like speaking, and closer to forming my sobs into vague word sounds.

Mort doesn't answer me for a little while. He just holds me closer and rubs his hand up and down my back.

"No.

"No, it never stops."

XXX

As soon as we enter the breakfast…place, Mort starts sniffing stuff. Evidently something is really interesting.

He takes a long whiff of the air, letting my arm go, moving towards them others. 

Josef, who walked in just behind us, also seems to find something so compelling that he actually closes his eyes. Who closes their eyes to sniff something? It's completely random. Well, not too random.

Mort opens his eyes and makes eye contact with Josef.

It doesn't seem like they say words, but they make hand movements. I think the subtext is a little something like this:

_Do you smell that?_

_Yeah, of course I smell that!_

_I know, right? They totally think they're hiding something!_

_Let's screw with their heads._

Mort comes up right behind Beth, eyebrows crossed, taking a long whiff of her hair. 

Josef comes right between Mick and Beth, one hand on either chair, grinning. Guess what else he's doing? 

No, I'm sorry, the correct answer was sniffing.

"What the hell! Josef!"

"What?" 

"What are you doing?" Josef tilts his head to look at Mick.

"Coloring."

"What?"

"It was a joke, you idiot."

While they continue to banter, Mort has risen himself from his Beth hair perch and is giving me an inside-joke look.

Beth is giving me a look all her own. As if to say…no, not even 'as if'. Just 'to say': DO SOMETHING.

I shrug.

"Guys?" Josef glares at me.

"What?"

"Is there something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?"

They both grin. Okay, come on, share. Some sort o' MickBeth thing. I wanna know! Come ooooon! Waaah.

"Michael, Elizabeth? Would you two care to, or should we?" Josef smiles warmly at the two of them. I never realized that. Mick is Michael. Mike! See? Doesn't he sound much less mysterious?

"Josef, don't be an ass."

"But Mick, you always tell me to be myself!" Mick's eyes narrow.

"Well, maybe you should make an exception every once and a while." He spits. Josef…is he giggling?

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we have confirmed giggling. That is a bit of a shocker.

"C'mon. We'll tell you." Josef says, grabbing my arm and pulling me out.

"Josef! Josef, get back in here! Josef! Don't –" Mick is cut off as we round the corner.

"Okay. You get three questions to figure it out."

"Something romantic?"

"Well, duh. That's one."

"Very, very close contact?"

"Uh huh. That's two."

"Removal of clothing?"

"Far as I can tell. Well, just heavy petting."

"Is that it?"

"Sorry, that's one too many questions!"

"Josef!" He grunts.

"Fine. You win. You didn't smell that too, did you?"

"No. It's just that I, you know, have eyes."

"I see." We grin at each other.

"So how long have you had to put up with the sexual tension there?"

"Counting from when she was four, or counting from when they both felt it?" Eeeeeew. That is just gross. I mean, I don't believe him, but still. Just the idea of it. Eeew.

Still, if they smelled that…doesn't he smell Mort on me?

"Of course, you two get close plenty. Never seems to get anywhere for you guys, though." He winks. Well, no shit, Sherlock. I think I get a free pass when it comes to relationships.

"Really? And what about your woman, hm?" He stiffens. HA! I knew it! I totally knew that he had someone. I told you so.

"What woman?"

"Don't lie. I know." His eyes darken considerably. Like someone turned the brightness down three or four notches. 

"No. No, you don't. If you did, you wouldn't be saying that." 

Oh, god. I feel like a complete idiot. 

Charles Fitzgerald. That's the name! Who he became! I remember that. How his name changed. 

Oh, god, I am a complete idiot. 

"So…so…you have a lot of rich friends?" I manage to choke.

"Why? Are you looking to hook up?"

"Is it possible any of them are…could be corrupted?"

"Well, I think by your loose definition of corrupted, they all already are." I sort of want to flick him in the forehead. Just…just right there, in the center. It's like god painted a target.

"Don't be stupid." He grins.

"Fine. Why do you ask?"

XXX

"Fine. Fine. How about…fish tanks and forests. That's a reasonably difficult one." Have you ever played the 'connect it' game? Think of two random things and somehow connect them through a random, but logical, train of thought. Then ask someone else to do the same (if you can't connect it, you shouldn't give it to someone else).

"Are you kidding? That's easier than Mars to the Amazon!"

"Well, excuse me for not constantly watching Nova."

"Mine is an undead encyclopedia, buddy." I reply, referring to Mort, who feels the need to dump facts on me at every possible moment. Josef agreed to drive me to Mr. Stuffy's house. 

No, I don't remember his real name. We just agreed that, you know, NOT having the thousand year old virtually invincible vampire show up on his doorstep might make him just a tad more lucrative. So, his ol' buddy ol' pal Josef and that short girl.

"You're avoiding!"

"Some people keep Haps, or haplochromines, in their aquariums. They're a type of cichlid numbering over hundreds of small, colorful species from Lake Malawi. In Lake Malawi, however, they are becoming more scarce due to the invasive species the Nile perch, a six foot, three hundred pound predator. This has, however, resulted in a good fishing economy even if it's fucked up the ecosystem. But to dry out the perch, which is extremely oily relative to other fish, they need more wood for longer fires. The wood comes from forests. Take that!"

"Okay, I went with underwater plants equal terrestrial plants, captain overkill."

"How much longer?"

"Almost there." I tap my foot impatiently on the floor of the car. He drives a Lamborghini or however it's spelled. You know, a pretentious red convertible. How did these get branded as cool? Prius all the way, man. 

Whatever. I never thought he'd get Shamu to Kleenex. He's pretty good at this.

"So what's this guy like, anyway?"

"Well, lately he's been telling me that he likes hanging out in shady alleys and shooting blood out of his eyes." I roll my eyes and stare out the window. This is my therapy: lean against the windows of moving vehicles. I loved bus rides in grade school. 

"He's just very…persuadable. And since he lives in the area…" He's also a vispus. Mort says Mr. Ringleader is probably looking for multiple species. Pollox's a biparta, he's a vispus, evidently Mr. Stuffy is a uniparta.

"What's his name?"

"Vincent Souffet." Same thing. Mr. Souffet.

"So, is Vincent like you? You know, stocks and stuff?"

"Sure." He grins at me.

We pull up in front of a house that I probably would have mistook for a library. Pillars have been strewn hither and to, pink and white marble adorning it at every possible corner. 

Oh, I'm not going to like him, am I?

A/N: Sorry for the lack of anything happening. I just didn't feel up to much today. Got some pretty sucky news. So, on that note, here's hoping when I feel better so does the story!


	20. Disturbing Trend

"Vince!"

"Josef!" The two men greet each other warmly, shaking hands. I believe a hug is out of the question.

Though, I think Mort might like Mr. Souffet. He's always complaining that there are too many white vampires. Hee.

"So, how've you been?"

"Maybe you'd know if you bothered to ask more than once every twenty years!" He laughs.

XXX

I'm not even going to bother you with the insipid details of the visit. I felt like a jackass, sitting there listening to them talk and trying to think of how I'm going to ask him if he or anyone he knows is evil.

Long story short, or short story short, no, he isn't, yes, he knows someone who's recently become a lot more jaded. 

Waaaa hoo. We're just hoppin' from rich bastard to rich bastard, now!

But…that's tomorrow. No way am I putting myself through a maid – a MAID – serving me tea.

TEA.

I don't drink tea. Well, I do, but not Earl Grey. I drink lemon. That's it. But only with profuse amounts of sugar! SO THERE!

I apologize.

That was insincere. For that I apologize.

…there I go again. I'm just going to go ahead and stop talking now.

"…said that he hasn't been returning his calls often, and when he does, it's short and dismissive – Vince said he'd become a lot more 'busy' lately, know what I mean?" Josef finished, leaning back, glass o' blood in hand. We're doing one of those meeting things again.

I miss when it was just me and Mort. We'd do normal stuff. You know. Mock the people in Starbucks. Now we're like the president's cabinet…just, without a…president…whatEVS.

See, I did it again. Down, girl.

"So did he leave an address for the busy, busy vampire?" Beth inquires, crossing her feet in front of her. 

"Yes. And I have no intention of revealing it to you, Ms. Turner." She gives him a dirty look.

"Why not?"

"Because. You are a reporter and will check it out yourself."

"I d-"

"Speaking from experience." She scowls furiously, then frowns, then goes catatonic, finally settling on a sly smile.

"Okay. Sure." She tells him, folding her hands complacently.

"It's not written down anywhere, nor does anyone but me know where this person lives."

"Damit!" She scowls again. I think he gets some sort of sick pleasure out of it.

"Say, when's Ben gonna get up?" Vicki injects the question rather awkwardly into the conversation. All eyes turn to me.

"I dunno. Tomorrow, maybe the day after." I answer nondescriptly. 

"What? So we have to wait?"

"Well, I have to wait."

"Huh?"

"Feel free to go kill yourself in the mean time. Maybe Henry will help you." I grin. She's looking rather haggard from the little black crystal incident from yesterday. She wasn't exactly forthcoming with the details, but from what I gather it ended…messy. And suffice to say she didn't wake up alone.

When she told me that she was banging her head on a table. I probably should have felt more sympathetic.

You know what? I spent the morning crying. A girl's only got so much feeling.

XXX

I'm not an artist, nor am I even a reasonable facsimile of someone with any amount of artistic skill, but I really need to draw something. I don't know what. I consider drawing the whimsically pointless bronze dolphin statue in the middle of the courtyard in which I am leaning, cross legged, against the wall. 

Are there dolphins in Vancouver?

I didn't think so. I didn't think so.

But no, instead I begin to aimlessly doodle an offhand wing. Soon the wing is attached to a bird, then another wing. Then, just for the heck of it, I put a couple more wings in there.

It's a dragonfly bird!

Now I just have to add legs without making them look clunky or awkward. Hm. I test out a few ways, dangling below the bird, tucked up against his chest, bent at several different angles. 

Still playing around with it, I feel an algid hand grip my neck and jaw bone, pulling my head sideways.

I feel the cold sting of fangs pierce my neck, a boreal mouth suckling on the wound heartlessly. I don't need a lesson in hematology to know that a person can only lose about - what's the number? Something around forty percent of their blood before dying. The strange thing is, the wound doesn't sting as one might imagine it would - just a dull, constant, throbbing pain, like a sore muscle. I take a moment to observe the livid, thin hand supporting the body that rests on my shoulder, feeling a lock of soft hair brush my arm. 

No, see, if the feet just hang there it looks stupid. I can't add dragonfly legs, can I? Ooh! Maybe if I made them webbed!

"Are you done yet?" The uncomfortable gush of my blood being redirected towards the wound stops. I feel the mouth carefully unhinge itself from my skin, pulling the fangs out with a pinching sensation.

"What did you say?"

A/N: Okay, it's not quite as evil looking as I'd hoped. Oh well. That's that. Yay! Reviews feed the plot bunnies. The emaciated, skin and bone, slowly dying from lack of attention plot bunnies. Sobcry.

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Just think of the guilt you'll feel otherwise.


	21. Interview With Some Malayalam Idiot

A/N: I don't actually know the color of her eyes. I guessed. Yes, that was meant to be a little cryptic. Also, does anyone know the song by The Kin – Together? Because it's the newest song on Indiefeed pop and I SWEAR it was the song in the background for the balcony scene where Beth confronts Mick. It so is. I was trying to place it and I swear it's that…but I could be wrong. Confirmation, anyone?

Guess what happens today? Nah, don't even bother. Just scroll down.

-------------------------------

"I said, are you done yet. As in, sucking out my bodily fluids. It's just that I would like to retain some for personal use, is all." The silken hair flows in chunks off of my shoulder as its owner backs away, standing to full height. I can see the shadow stretch, long and thin, spread like tissue paper on the grass.

"You're not frightened." Comes a soft voice. 

"Frightened? No." I tell her. "A little miffed, though." She steps forward, to stare down at me, perhaps as her own tactic of scaring or intimidating me. She's quite possibly one of the tallest women I have ever met, which, I suppose, isn't saying much. After all, if a person's definition of tall resides on how tall they themselves are, I'm bound to find nearly everyone I meet tall. 

But I never wear heels to be taller! No. No, nuh uh. 

Well, maybe once or twice. But it was for work purposes!

Plus I hid knives in the wedges! So, that was okay. I had an excuse. Quit your judging.

So what if I like heels. A girl can only take so much All Stars and Wellies.

Anyway. Besides being ridiculously, irritatingly, infuriatingly lithe and stick like, her face has this painted doll quality – perfect red lips, pale features, dark hair styled to perfection in a bun.

"Who are you?" She asks me. Wait, how is that fair? How come she gets to ask questions? Hack phooey patooey bleh ach crivens the world hates me and everything sucks my life is over.

"You first." Her unnaturally ruby lips pucker in confusion as she kneels, brushing her fingertips over the marks on my neck.

"You've stopped bleeding already," she whispers, observing it, fascinated.

"Meh. Higher than average platelet level. The question remains: shouldn't you have at least asked permission first?" She frowns.

"How is that possible…?" My mouth opens and shuts indignantly. Are you serious?

"Did you not hear anything I just said? What, are you reading this from a script!" She frowns and glances up at me, to stare me full in the eyes for the first time. That's right, I have a _face_, too.

"You aren't like other humans."

"Wow. Did you read that off the back of a gum wrapper?" She pouts rather effectively. Why do I feel like I recognize this woman?

"What's your business here?" I ask her coldly. Now, it's rather hard to retain dignity when one is doodling a dragonfly bird and wearing a t shirt that says 'support local farms'. 

Her swimming pool grey eyes bleed white once more, perhaps in an effort to scare me into silence.

I'm not scared. Not humanly – perhaps the remnant of small frightened prey instinct of which I have retained shreds in my gut is what gives it that unique turning sensation.

Nevertheless, she evidently doesn't care to answer my question. She once again rises to her irksomely massive height before zipping away in a blur.

…

…

…

What the hell!

XXX

"It's fine. Would you quit rubbing it?" I swat Mort's hand away for the fourth time in as many minutes.

"Are you sure? It could have gotten infected or…or…"

"Or nothing. Remember your antibiotics or whatever lecture about vampire spit?"

"Antibacterial saliva."

"Same difference."

"I'll thank you to remember!" I chuckle. He didn't overreact, exactly, when he saw the marks. Well, he did, but only in a Mort way. He asked me how they happened, I told him (omitting a few details), and he tried to attack me with iodine. That was fun.

And then he went all 'come on, night in, you deserve it, who knows when we'll get to again, blah blah blah…' So, hence the absent stargazing. You know Shoegazer in a music genre? So cool.

"This is pointless. The city ate all the stars." He holds a finger to my lips to shush me.

"Virtually all of the stars. You can still see enough." Liar. My only definition of enough stars is in the middle of nowhere where you can see every flaming ball of gas.

"Bu-" He puts his finger to my lips again, shutting me off. He trails the finger over the curve of my lips, my chin, down my throat, finally spreading the hand out on the collarbone, pushing me down so that I'm lying on my back.

"Now, just…watch. Please?" He says, reclaiming his hand. I patiently observe the dull pulsing of the purple orange city barf glow. Though to be fair, it's a lot worse in the states. I can see a good amount of stars – of course, I'm not one for constellations. But the nice thing is that there's no sound.

FBFBFBFBFB

"_This is no fun at all, you jerk!" Nik smiled and shook his head._

"_I should have known better than to take you camping."_

"_No, you think?"_

"_And what is it that you find so terrible about the forest?" He waved his hand, as if showcasing the scene before him. It was pitch black, not a light and nary a camper for miles around, the only smell that of the damp, rich soil beneath my feet and the calm, all encompassing scent of the forest. _

"_Well, it's cold, the sleeping bags don't pad the tiny jagged rocks underneath them, I forgot to bring a water bottle, and I'm all dirty." I explained eloquently, pointing out the large smudge of mud that streaked from my collarbone down my shirt._

"_Jo," He laughed, a soft, sweet sound. As if he were laughing at the general, unavoidable absurdity of the world. He smiled in that delicate, sincere smile that he so rarely showed the world, eyes searching my own._

"_Just look up." _

_And I did._

_And what I saw took my breath away – tiny buds, like the crumbs of the sun, sprinkled the sky in a heavy coat. Some small and some considerably larger, and indescribably beautiful, a surreal view, made all the more enchanting by the person I was sharing it with._

_I stole a glance in his direction and saw that he was leaning back, propped up on either elbow, face to the sky like a caress of the heavens._

FBFBFBFBFB_  
_

"Ooh! I see Orion!" I say finally, noticing the three familiar consecutive twinkles. 

"That's my favorite constellation." I explain. 

Mort is just sitting, cross legged, on the lawn, arms out behind him for support, chest to the sky.

"Why?" I look away.

"Cause it's the only one I can ever find." This is met with a little chuckle.

"Wanna know about some other ones?" I stare rather intently at a blade of grass and ignore him.

"Miz?" With one finger, he turns my head towards him.

"Come on. I promise, no patronizing."

"Mort, I know you. You operate on two levels: patronizing and silent." 

He flicks me in the earlobe.

"Liar." I flick him on the chin.

"Hypocrite!" He chuckles once again before flopping back like a beached seal on the grass, hands folded over his stomach.

"How about this. You know the big and little dippers?"

"Yep."

"I'm assuming you know what they look like." I roll over on my side, my hips at a tilt so that the right side of my body – the one in direct contact with the ground – is stretched, the other side scrunched into a compacted curve.

"Well, I'm not an idiot, so you tell me."

"Fine then." He turns his head to look at me.

"Find it." 

"That's not fair! There are at least seven things I see right now that look like one or the other!"

"Both have seven stars, if that helps."

"It doesn't." I glare at him.

Once again, he reaches out a hand to brush cool fingertips like metal against the fresh marks. He sweeps away a piece of hair that concealed them, tugging my shirt a bit lower down on my shoulder so as to get a better look at them.

He lets his hand rest there, tracing a curve around the soon-to-be scars like a barrier, preventing it from poisoning the rest of me. 

He absently trails his finger down, to the line of my collarbone, tracing it cautiously.

"Why do you stay near me?" I ask him quietly.

"Hm?"

"All I've ever done is cause you unnecessary trouble." He looks up at me, cool, brown-grey eyes calculative. Inviting me closer, deeper.

"Separation secures manifest friendship." My eyebrows meet in an agreement of confusion.

"Why Mort. How terribly eloquent of you." He doesn't break his gaze away, but shrugs.

"Indian proverb." Oh. Oh, well that's okay then.

"Know any other ones?"

"_Ikyamathyam mahabalam_." He tells me. I don't know what it means, but it sounds beautiful.

"What is that?"

"It's Malayalam for 'Unity is strength.'" 

All I manage is a weak, "Oh." Luckily I manage to gather some dignity with "Do you know any other ones?"

_"__Kaal Karai So aaj Kar, Aaj Karai so ab, Pal mein Parlai Hoyegi, tab bahuri karega kab.__"_

The words roll off his tongue like the most natural thing in the world, a reminiscent smile tugging at his lips. He has yet to break eye contact with me, and still the eyes are cool, clear…

And so very inviting.

"What does that one mean?" I whisper.

"Whatever you want to do tomorrow, do it today. And whatever you desire to do today, do it now because nobody knows in this uncertain world what will happen in a moment." My breath catches in my throat.

"That's a good one. I like that one." I tell him.

"You do?"

"Uh huh."

"That's nice. It's one of my favorites too."

"Oh. How bout that." I squeak. I do believe that my voice just went up like four octaves. I cough to eliminate the tickle in my throat. 

We stay there like that, staring at each other, each absorbed in separate thoughts. I'm not much of one for descriptive eye talk, but there's just something about his…This crystalline quality, understanding, yet trepid and cautious. Like a deep bond that has yet to be validated. A person could get so lost in eyes like that.

"So, I'm getting pretty tired."

"You are?" He pulls his hand away, immediately apologetic.

"Uh huh."

"So, you'd better go to bed now." 

"Uh huh." Though I no longer feel the comforting safety of his touch, I'm stilling trying to find my way out of the most perfect pair of eyes.

"Okay then." I'll get up at the count of five. Ready?

One. 

Two.

Three. I have an idea.

Four. It's a stupid idea. I won't do it.

Five. I mean, it's stupid. I'll end up regretting it tomorrow. I seriously will. Yeah, never mind, I won't do it.

I stand up, finally, somehow, managing to break away from his heated gaze. Awkwardly adjusting my top, I brush my hair out of my eyes and dust the beauty and clarity of the moment off of my shoulders before stuffing my hands in my pockets and heading for my room.

I just changed my mind.

Still walking, I turn around so that I'm pacing backwards to look at him, now standing in the field watching me. His face is completely dark, his eyes the only objects reflecting wan light of the shy moon.

"Care to join me?"

A/N: Wow, can you say 'left off in a random place'? I bet you can. I bet you can also say 'hippopotamus'. And 'mitochondrial DNA.' So yeah. Three guesses as to who the mysterious attacker was. I bet you'll only need half a one, though. rEvIeWs FeEd ThE nUtSo PlOt BuNnIeS!

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He's sleeping. Wake him up with a refreshing review!

This is me begging. Also, anything anyone wants to read…I'd love to hear about it…And, turns out I didn't get to use the fun line today. Oh well. Save it for the anticlimax or whatever.


	22. Now, When You Say 'Kill You'

A/N: To She who hath Disgruntled the Sleeping Plot Bunny with a Stick: they're coming. Sleep with your windows closed.

He pauses.

"Now, when you say, 'join you'…" I cross my arms and wait for him to turn his big head back on.

"You meant sit by your bed and make sure that the vampire woman doesn't come back." I giggle.

"Good job." He grins and shakes his head, Oh That Johnny. What? It's not like I'm going to turn him into a human bull dog. We'll talk and stuff.

"Come on, sleepy head." Still…

"Do you know any other proverbs?"

"Hundreds. I'm fluent in several Indian languages."

"Like?" He shrugs as he walks over, hands stuck in his khaki coat.

"Bengali, Malayalam, Tamil, Telugu…um..."

"...that's a lot."

"Hang on, there's a couple more…Hindi… and Sanskrit. That's it."

"Oh, that's 'it', is it?"

"No, wait…" He closes his eyes and moves his lips silently, as if remembering by the exercise of ancient muscles.

"_iDavAgi baggaddu maravAgi baggIthe?_" He grumbles.

"Huh?"

"Kannada. It means 'If it does not bend as a sapling, how will it as a tree?'" Oh, gee whiz. I wonder who that could be about. Him and his stupid…face.

"Subtle." He laughs sourly and sweeps an arm around my shoulders.

"Let's get you to bed, little one." I am not!

Suddenly there's a high-pitched, womanly screech from across the courtyard. It claws heartlessly at my ears, threatening to burn away the cirrhi and prevent me from ever again hearing soft noises. The kind of scream that often follows the cries of 'Don't open the moaning and rattling door with a skull and cross bones on it!' from distressed movie-goers.

I can't even imagine how Mort's taking this.

I look over at him, feel his arm stiffen around my shoulders, eyes closed and jaws tight against each other.

"Mort?" I whisper. "Mort, you okay?"

He doesn't answer me, still in rigor mortis-esque position.

"Mort?"

"…um, _ow_." He tells me, as if it should be obvious. I sigh.

"We just can't catch a break, can we?"

XXX

He sweeps an arm under my knees and lifts me to his chest, preempting my comment with one of his own.

"Just, _shut up_…please." He growls before zipping, sidekick Johnny intact (humph), towards the source of the noise.

"Put me down!" Is all I manage to whisper as lines blur past me before we arrive upon the scene of the...there's gotta be a better word than crime.

The woman – you know, the one that almost killed me earlier – is in a defensive stance, ready to bolt if given the chance.

Beth is cowering in a concrete corner, however, though the woman does not seem to have done anything to warrant it.

And of course, Mighty Mickey is standing in from of her (Beth), facing the woman and scowling. I wonder who screamed?

"Oh jeez, you?" Mort grumbles immediately, still holding me like some sort of sick baby.

"Mort!" I whisper, kicking my legs pointedly. Still mildly stunned, he gives me a peck on the cheek before dropping me to make his Condescending Mort Eyes at her. Wait, what the hell? Is it a defensive thing? A protective thing? Or, are you just an idiot?

She turns to him, shock barely registering in her inhuman eyes.

"You?" She whispers.

"Yeah, you remember me, don't you? The one to whom most of your racial slurs were directed when you were human?" He bounces his eyebrows, grinning.

Oh, man. I mean, I knew he'd spent some time in Europe, but wow. This must be the best payback ever for him.

"I…I…"

"You…you…are done terrorizing people?" He offers.

"I wasn't terrorizing anyone. They overreacted!" And I under reacted. I love it when melodramatic people don't get the expected reactions from victims. Completely throws them off-kilter. Haha. Nonchalance!

"Then why would they scream?"

"I don't know! I didn't harm anyone. I wasn't trying to kill."

"You know, except for my…" He glances at me.

"Partner." I finish for him. Partner, yes. It's about the only one-word sentence to describe us. Pretty sure 'friends' doesn't work.

Partner. In more ways than one.

"Then why is it, Coraline, that you are here?" He replies, crossing his arms over his chest. It's very imposing. Even I'm a little bit imposed upon.

By the way: I read this book once, the protagonist's name was Coraline. I liked that Coraline better. For your information.

"Fine then. What, exactly –" Mick holds his hand up, similar to a traffic guard with better hair. I wonder if vampires ever cut their hair. Does it grow? Is there calcium in blood? I imagine it must be annoying to have to shave everyday for eternity. Do vampires shave?

These are the questions that keep me up at night.

"I got it from here, Mort." He turns to Coraline.

"What do you want with us?" She gives everyone in the immediate vicinity a long, cold stare.

"I came to warn you."

A/N: I'm not sure that even counts as a cliffie…but maybe. I dunno. There's probably (stress on the PROBABLY) going to be another chapter tonight, if I get around to it. I'm sick anywho so it's not like I'm going anywhere. Therefore, let things commence! World, you have my Permission to keep turning!

Reviews feed the plot bunnies. You know who you are. All of you. They're silently judging.

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You have no idea what I went through to get this plot bunny here intact.


	23. The Beat My Heart Skipped

Disclaimer: I made this little paper origami Rights To Moonlight today, and, and, and,

It burned down. Tear.

Cryptic, much? Look, lovey, but we know. There's evil afoot.

I mean, fuck. We KNOW already.

"Hang on." For once, my presence seems to be registered by the group as a whole. Good job, guys.

When I was in grade school, I would sometimes test the limits of my friendships. You know how you'd say someone is your best friend, just so that you could say you had a best friend? Like dating just so you could have a boyfriend.

So I'd occasionally just break away, follow them through alley ways or (if we were in a store) in isles, hidden – just to see if they'd notice.

Most of the time, nobody did.

I learned to stop doing it. Not because people were annoyed with me – no, no one ever bothered to become annoyed – but because I had to stop hurting myself. I had to learn to be happy that they let me go places with them instead of shunning me. I learned to be content with being invisible.

I hated that feeling. Hated it.

"What?" Beth inquires, resting a hand on the rough concrete to raise herself from the ground.

"Can we please do this like civilized people?"

'You mean, you'll put down your rock and I'll put down my sword and we'll try and kill each other like civilized people?' I so want someone to say that. Seriously.

Mort rolls his eyes. "Miz…"

"What do you mean?" Beth asks.

"I mean, it's cold out here, let's go inside and sit down while grilling our lovely intruder."

XXX

Everyone shuffles awkwardly into the nearest available room. You shouldn't be allowed to interrogate someone in a room with paisley wall paper. It simply shouldn't be done.

Well, interrogate is a strong word. How about 'quiz'?

_Sure. If it makes you feel better._

You stay out of this.

Those of us who are human situate ourselves on the couch, whereas the vampires take up the various seats scattered around the room. Mick in a kitchen chair, Coraline in an armchair and Mort on a…table. Sure. Why not.

"Now, Coraline. Please explain exactly how you came to be here." She looks desperately at Mort.

"I don't have much time before he finds me! Please, can I just tell you what I risked my life to?"

"Before who finds you? Coraline, how did you escape Lance?" Mick interrupts. Coraline shoots him a look.

"Not now, dear. I'm busy." Oh. BURNED!

"Go on, Coraline. Just tell us." She takes a long, deep breath.

"I…my sire. He's working with some men…vampires, really. And he wants me to help him – help him – "

"Turn people." Mort finishes for her. I let out a lengthy, outstretched sigh.

"And then there were three."

XXX

"No, but this makes sense, right? Three vampires, one of each species, working together." I tell him.

"I…suppose…" He mutters.

"What? What's wrong this time?"

"Did something about her seem a little…odd, to you? Different from other unipartas?"

"Sorry, do I have vampires senses I don't know about?"

"Kind of." I sigh.

"She had kind of a heart murmur. Like a fading beat." He turns to me.

"Exactly!

"Only vispus have hearts that beat, to circulate the blood through the body. If she'd just fed…"

"But she turned Mick! He's a uniparta."

"She is too." He shakes his head, plopping down on my bed. He took me up on my offer, and is currently pacing around my room with the lights off while I sit up in bed, blankets tucked up around me.

"It doesn't make any sense. Her sire is working with Pollox, and some other vispus who turned Ben and God knows who else. Three supremely powerful people, all working together to – what? Relieve themselves of boredom? This is going beyond a mere trick for amusement, Johnny." He groans, sprawling his limbs out on the covers.

I run my eyes over the rumpled brown form before me, letting my imagination follow every muscled curve, angular cheekbone. The curls of his hair.

I shake my head. "I don't know. Maybe we –" I falter. "Maybe _I_ should sleep on it." He chuckles.

"Good catch."

XXX

((Mort's POV, exactly where the last scene left out, give or take a few seconds.))

"Good catch." I told her.

Maybe it was the way the moonlight trailed its delicate fingers over her face that made me look at her that way. Maybe it was that, for once, I noticed that the bands of red in her hair touched the black – red touch black, friend of jack.

Maybe I always look at her like this. Note the way her lower lip dips down, the upper a careful line above it. Each so perfectly pink, edged sharply, as if it had emerged after someone had cut the skin there. How no matter where she stands, the light only ever seems to illuminate have of her face at once, hiding part of it from me.

I'm still not sure she understands how in awe I am of her. Almost…inexplicably. How just looking at her makes me want to stay by her side for eternity – god willing.

I don't mean to sound like some hopeless teenager fawning over a beautiful woman. That is not it, not close – though she certainly is beautiful, isn't she? Effortlessly, almost.

"Mort?" The sound of her voice removes me from my fool's paradise.

Nearly.

"Yes, Joanna?"

"Is Pollox a ringleader, or is he being controlled?" She poses a difficult, and necessary, question. I don't doubt that there are people that could find a way to control Pollox – it's pretty easy to appeal to him if you offer a DNA sample or to do a few vampire experiments. He's so desperate to find out about what we are.

"Er – I don't know. I would guess he's part of it, a leader. Just sort of a hunch."

"Aw, you and your hunches." Heh.

"Aw, me and my hunches." I tell her, sitting up on an elbow.

"I'm…gonna…" she pauses.

"Gonna…go…to…sleep…now…Mort…?" I finish for her, drawing out every syllable painfully and receiving the expected exasperated Johnny look. She scrunches up her nose and pokes a little pink tongue out through her teeth.

"Yeah."

"Okay. Night, sweetie. I won't let the vampires bite." Come to think of it, I'm getting steadily hungrier. I suppose midnight would be a good time for a vampire to feed, no?

XXX

((Still Mort's POV, just five minutes later))

When I come back, I take a seat on the floor, knees half bent. For a moment, I observe her sleeping figure – the line of her hip, the hair spread on her pillow (attached to her head – the hair, not the pillow). I swear to you, she does this to torture me. I close my eyes.

"Mort?" I crack open one eye. I'm not sleeping – no, to do that willingly takes a good deal of concentration – just trying not to watch her sleep. She made some sort of derogatory 'Look, they're good books, but don't you find it creepy he watched her sleep without her knowledge? I mean, seriosly.' comment about the Twilight series one time. And one does not risk incurring the wrath of Joanna Lovett. I learned that lesson the hard way.

I'm also afraid that watching her sleep would be tantamount to looking through my window into hers with binoculars.

"You're still awake?"

"You couldn't tell by my heart beat or whatever?"

"Well, it was the 'or whatevers' that threw me off. Man, those things are wily." She gives a low chuckle.

"What's the problem, Johnny?" She groans.

"I can't sleep." If my heart beat regularly, it would have skipped a beat.

"Would you like me to do something about that?" Or would you like to take advantage of your insomnia?

Oh dear. I don't normally think like that. I apologize. Oh dear oh dear. Blame it on the moonlight.

"Could you?"

"Well, what would you like me to do? Read you a story from down here?" She herself cracks open an eye. She once again closes it, and withdraws her arm from the comforter. She pats the covers behind her, placing me a target.

Oh, I'm only too glad.

Joanna seems to hold the opinion of me that I'm never interested in anyone. That I don't 'think like that'. Well, she's right for the most part – I'm rarely interested in women, romantically. She just doesn't seem to grasp that she is just about the only person who could have me if she wanted.

I hate wanting what you can't have. I try not to, but I can't help it – not with her.

So I eagerly, though gingerly, leap onto the bed, staying respectfully above the covers. I rest one arm over her waist, a protective safety bar for my Johnny. Well, not mine.

I smooth her hair, plant a kiss on the back of her head.

I start to hum Greensleeves, offhandedly. I feel her squeeze tight my arm – in positive or negative confirmation, I'm unsure.

"Keep going." She mutters when I stop.

"Alas, my love, you do me wrong,  
To cast me off discourteously.  
For I have loved you well and long,  
Delighting in your company." I coo…well, coo is a bit much. Regardless, I sing softly, into her hair.

Josef was right – she does smell like cocoa.

"Greensleeves was all my joy  
Greensleeves was my delight,  
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,  
And who but my lady greensleeves."

A/N: Alright, alright, enough canoodling, I know. I just thought I'd try out Mort's POV for a prequel I might end up writing for my own amusement. Sorry. Now hit that purple button!


	24. Dreams Are Fucking With My Reality

((Still Mort's POV – last bit))

((Still Mort's POV – last bit))

She falls asleep almost immediately – and I'm disinclined to believe that the human was actually having that much trouble sleeping. You can't hide your intentions from me, little one! Ha!

I watch absently as nightlife continues outside. Closing my eyes, I focus in on one conversation – what is it, two, maybe three kilometers away? It's faint even to my ears, but for my own amusement I practice tuning in. You say eavesdropping, I say polite listening.

"Oh my god! Sandra, no you didn't!"

"Are you like a fucking idiot?" There's girlish laughter.

"No, seriously, did you actually like dip the pretzel in the vodka? Oh my god you are like so dumb!"

"I'm brave! God, just like shut up Lorry!" More laughter. I'm hoping this is a result of them being drunk, and that they don't normally act like this. 'Like' is not a think word.

"Okay, okay, my turn. Um…truth!"

"Are you like, sure?"

"Um, yeah. Yeah! Truth."

"Okay. No, no, I'm gonna ask this time. Shut up Nicole. Uh…okay. Okay! Best, um, one night stand ever!"

"Oh my god! You can't like ask that!"

"Why not?"

"It's like personal!" Either it is personal or it is not personal. It is not 'like personal', dear. I'm cringing.

"You said truth! You can't like take it back now!" I wince. Oh, the horror. The absolute, heart wrenching horror. Innocent grammar is being torn to bloody, gory shreds.

"Okay, okay, fine…fine…just like, give me a second." There's a (sort-of) hushed silence.

"Oh! Oh! Okay, I got it. Okay. Okay. Um," she begins.

"So, a few weeks ago, there was this guy…this um, guy. And he was like, really, I mean _really_ hot. Like, Ashton Kutcher hot." Ashton…Kutcher…sounds…like a girl.

"So what was his name?" Silence.

"Um…I think it was like…Roger, maybe?"

"Oh my god, Kelly! You don't even know his _name_?"

"Shut up shut up! It was like weeks ago, biotch!" Giddy, delighted laughter.

"No, seriously, like keep going."

"Okay, so like we were at that new bar downtown – you know, the really weird, like, you know…weird one." Oh, but Kelly, was it weird? Because I'm unclear on that point.

"So he bought me a drink…and…like…well…" Oh, I want to wash my ears in acid. Still bothering to listen – for what reason I'm unaware – I look down at Johnny. She who does not use like as a think word, but instead actually THINKS. Her eyelids flicker spastically in REM sleep, and evidently her dream is intense. Positively or negatively I don't know, but she's wrapped both her arms around the one I'd draped over her, clutching it with frightened urgency.

"There there, little one. I'm here." I whisper to her, rocking my arm back and forth a bit. She snorts, and kicks in her sleep. I'm sure that would have hurt had my nerve cells not been so dulled.

"Oh my god Kel, just get to the good part!"

"I'm working up to it okay? Jeez! Like seriously.

"Okay, okay, so. He um…well, we barely made it back to his place. Like, literally, in the alley way we…um…"

"Oh my god, tell me you didn't show skin in an alley!"

"No! No, god no! It's just that he gave me like a massive hickey. See?" There's a vague rustling of cloth as she pulls down her blouse to show her mark like a trophy of maturity and beauty. But I'm weaving together the subtext.

"Oh my god! He like bit you!"

"I know! It was like, so hot. I'm not even kidding. It was like…" She leans in and whispers, just barely pulling out of my range of hearing, though I have no doubt that the word 'orgasm' was used.

Suddenly feeling rather disgusting, I pull away from Johnny to sit up on the bed. Is it possible to wash your brain out with soap? I should hope so.

So, one night stand with a vampire. Perhaps I should have a chat with Henry.

XXX

((Johnny's POV again. She's back, folks!))

Okay, maybe I wasn't sleeping so much. Come on! Awesome new headway on the case! Here's what I'm thinking: obviously Coraline knows who here sire is. With her help we'll be able to find him, so we pay a little visit. Then I get to go 'Say hello to my little friend!' in that accent that the guy uses, and Bolt will go all Cerberus on him and…facilitate the smooth flow of information. Also I really want to see him go all Cerberus on a vampire.

So we scare the shit out of him, he's all 'they made me do it I can't tell you!' then we knock him out or something. And search his house for evidence.

Okay, fine, we'll ask him politely first. You people ruin all my fun. So then we find him and stop him, then we find the other guys with the first guy! This'll work out fine. It's much better with a plan. Okay. Okay.

_What do we do with Coraline?_

She can just go eat a small child's heart or something. Wait, did you just say 'we'?

_Sorry. You/me. I'm bad with pronouns._

Well there's something we have in common.

_Ah! I did it again!_

Really?...Oh yeah. Sorry me. Can I just say 'Johnny' whenever Johnny needs to be referred to?

_So what, I'm referring to myself in third person now?_

Well, it's better than being schizophrenic.

_Not really. It's pretty creepy._

Know what? I'll just wing it.

_Deal._

But tomorrow I'm taking a break. Yes it's all important and stuff, but…I don't want to. Give me five minutes and I'll think of an excuse.

-five minutes later-

Coraline has to get back to her sire! If she arrives thirty seconds before we come a knockin', it'll be suspicious. Yeah. That's it. Totally the reason.

Hang…

Hang on.

Is Mort asleep? He is so aslee-

Never mind. What's he listening to?

I'll ask him tomorrow.

For now, I shift the covers up over my shoulders and sleep comfortably.

XXX

"Hello there." I blink sleep out of my eyes at the voice, trying to bat away this strange feeling in my stomach.

"How come you're always up before me?" I ask the apparently bodiless voice.

"Because I never go to sleep." Mort tells me from the bathroom.

"What are you doing in the bathroom?"

"Toweling off." Ew.

"You showered here?"

"It was more convenient. Besides, the bathrooms are all the same."

"I suppose." The feeling in the pit of my abdomen is spreading, like subtle tingling, but less direct. It's not necessarily a good or bad feeling, but still…a familiar one. I can't quite place it.

I scoot myself up from under the covers, drawing my legs up and over to reveal my black sleep pants and grey tank top.

Just then, Mort comes out of the bathroom…

Wearing only a black towel around his waist.

Now, such thoughts shouldn't occur to a person at a time like this, but I think if he wore a black collar or something he'd look ready to perform an evil magic ritual. Just the way the thing sits on him.

"How'd you sleep last night?" He asks me.

"Okay." I reply.

We regard each other for a moment, him standing next to the bed and me half curled up on it, human and vampire, woman and man, European and Indian.

The room takes on a dreamy feel, like the lines are blurred, the light of the rising sun softened.

I'm not sure if he read my thoughts or if we're just alike, because he chooses that moment to draw the blinds just before advancing on the bed.

Before I can even get my bearings straight, he's on top of me, arms on either side of my body and bare torso level with my chest. Though the way he's supporting himself results in our hipbones touching, his shoulders hackled like a wolf.

"Mort," Is all that I manage to squeak before my mouth is covered by his, searing my lips, tongues working together.

My hands roam over his body, up the bulging curves of his arms to curl down, feeling the soft bumps and sinuosity of his chest, tracing lines of muscle.

And as I feel him he feels me, letting him run a hand up my thigh to play at the lip of my pants, hooking a finger in the elastic.

I move my hands from his chest up around his neck, exploring his back, feeling sharp, predatory shoulder blades bundle and stretch under smooth skin…

XXX

With a gasp, I sit up, trying to shake the vividness of my dream away. I'm unsure whether to be disappointed or relieved.

But Mort's just reading a book on the chair by my bed.

A/N: Sorry, just a little bleck before they go to see Mr. Evil next chapter. Heck, it's not about the story, it's about the peeeeeeeeooople! Yay! This message brought to you by Diet Pepsi and the League of Evil Villains and Mad Scientists. Join today and get a free cupholder!

Feed the plot bunnies.

Just DO IT.


	25. Odd Duck

A/N: Just a wee little bit today.

"I don't see why I have to wear a dress. It's an interrogation, not a date." I grumble, tugging at the tight yellow sundress that I was forcibly stuffed into.

"Because if you go in wearing black jeans a moose t shirt, Johnny, he might be disinclined to actually take you seriously." Mort tells me, ruffling my hair.

"But…I don't…I don't…I don't _do_ cheerful."

"Well the two of you will have to learn to get along for today." He tells me, accelerating the gas when we get onto the highway.

"Mort, what do we say to him? Like, excuse me but you haven't been breaking vampire code and doing generally immoral things lately, have you?"

"Something like that, yes."

"Mort!" He laughs, tugging a stray chunk of hair out of his face.

"You sell him on the lovely charity that you've come representing –"

"Oh god, you didn't." With an easy flick of the wrist, he produces a fan of pamphlets.

"You can't make me do this!" I whine upon the sight of the Panda Friends Animal Rescue Society For Abandoned Animals And Pandas. PFARSFAAAP.

Are you FUCKING SERIOUS?!

"Fine. I'll just tell all the good vampires that it's your fault their world is going to hell."

I point my finger at him and the fan of pamphlets.

"You…" I tell him. "_You_…are an _odd_ _duck_."

XXX

"Hello! My name is Cynthia Louise." I wince. He just had to pick that name, didn't he? Friggin'…friggin'…vampires.

The man who answered the door was not the pressed and dressed doorman I had expected.

"Hello." A tall man with cropped, dark hair and skin pale as paper smiles down at me.

Despite a mildly friendly air, his appearance, the way he carries himself – it's distant, withdrawn.

"Uh," What did I expect? A monocle an evil cackle and a tuxedo?

"Can I help you with something?" He asks softly. A tall, lithe man, thinner than seems humanly possible, he smiles dashingly.

"I…I…uh…"

"Are you from the car company?" Thank you, Gods of Chance! You have just saved my ass for the four hundred eighty seventh time! I counted.

"Yes." He regards me for a moment, smoker's robe catching dim rays of sun.

"Come in, by all means."

A/N: Sorry. Just wanted to get that out there. Hee.

Reviews feed my plot bunnies!


	26. The Ultimate Experience

"I apologize for the inconvenience I must have made myself. My sister can be quite demanding when it comes to her transportation needs." He tells me, heading directly for a room off to the left.

It's a good thing I'm flexible when it comes to my surroundings or my jaw would drop at the sight of the apparent sultan's palace I've just stepped into. I mean the place is huge – pillars everywhere…and…and….maids, probably…

Ooh! I bet there's a butler named Jeeves! Or Charles! Or Punce, I've always wanted meet a butler named Punce.

"Well, we're capable of dealing with any problems…that…might…arise…" I venture, unsure exactly of what his sister demanded.

I mean I'm just making shit up.

"Good to know. Would you like to discuss it in the drawing room?"

…

…

…

There's a drawing room. Ya hear that, guys? There's a drawing room. A room. For drawing.

"Sure." I mutter, following the sinuous shape which flows into a room off to the right.

Emerging in the room, I sit down on the couch. Stupid dresses. I have to keep my legs together all lady-like.

He smiles at me, sitting down in an armchair.

Is Mort done yet? Because I'm fully ready for him to come bursting in here. Anytime now.

"So how can I help you, Mr…?"

"Just call me Douglas."

"Douglas it is. You can call me J – Cynthia." I barely manage to catch myself.

"Well, Cynthia, I'd like to thank you and your company on behalf of my sister. It's not easy to come by UV-blocking windows in a Porsche!" He smiles.

"Uh huh."

Seriously, Mort. Anytime would be good. Preferably now, however.

"So how have you found the car so far?"

"Usually where we left it." He laughs softly.

"But is it running well?"

"Sure." I grumble. MORT!

Can't vampires read minds? I wish they could read minds right now. Because why?

MORT. GET YOUR STUPID INDIAN ASS DOWN HERE _NOW_.

I wonder if he heard? Pff. I bet not. Grumble mumble.

"That's reassuring to hear."

"Course."

Surprisingly, he moves from his chair to perch on the arm of the couch. Uh. Buddy? Personal bubble. Yeah.

I cough.

"I'm not mad, of course, but please indulge me."

Uh oh. Problem.

"Why are you really here?"

Yeah, big problem. Massive problem. Colossal, Argentinosaurus-sized issue. Uhhm.

"I…"

"Really, I'm curious. You seem very…interesting."

Interesting like 'great personality we should do this again sometime' interesting or 'I bet you'd taste real good with a nice white whine' interesting?

"I – I just…"

"I mean, you obviously know that I'm a vampire, do you not?"

"Oh, great, you're one of those guys that just happens to mysteriously know everything, right?"

SHUT UP, BLUNT JOHNNY! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!

He chuckles. "I knew I liked you."

Feeling's not exactly mutual, ol' buddy ol' pal.

So this guy turned Coraline, huh?

Figures. I guess melodrama runs in the family. Whatever.

"Gee, I'm flattered and all, but really –"

"You never answered my question."

"I'm here for the betterment of mankind and/or myself."

"That was mildly vague."

"Most things are."

He snorts, a smile twitching at his ever pale, too-perfect lips.

"I'm afraid my asking you was simply a common courtesy."

I'm way too used to this to be afraid, or even show a reasonable facsimile of being afraid, so there. Nyah nyah. You don't scare all humans.

"I kind of figured. You're going to kill me now, aren't you?"

"Would you be willing to work for me instead? I could certainly use a vamp-acquainted human on my side."

I sighed. "Well…"

Stalling….stalling…

MORDECAI. COME. NOW.

…

As in, now now. Not the other now.

_Thump._ Yes!

"I suppose…"  
"There would be considerable benefits." He flashes a smile at me, a hint of fangs showing. Oh, great, and I don't suppose those benefits would be considered tantamount to prostitution and/or sleeping with your really creepy undead boss?

"Uh…"

Of course, that's when Bolt bursts through the window and shatters it, so I didn't have to politely and indifferently tell him to fuck off.

"Wha-" Was the last syllable he manages to utter before Bolt is on him.

He lands with a menacing thump on his chest, pinning down limbs with iron legs, snarls being torn out of his chest by the weight of his malice alone.

Not even pausing for dramatic effect (but they always do that in the movies!), Bolt sinks otherworldly sharp teeth into the vampire's neck, twisting his grip and _ripping_ upwards with a horrible tearing sound, bringing up a wad of tissue white flesh with it, opening up vampire's neck, blood spurting in sporadic bursts from the gaping wound, darkening the carpet.

Like a lion with a chunk of gazelle or a cormorant with a fish, Bolt tosses up the meat and swallows it with several jowl movements like so much dog chow.

He gives me a very canine puppy look.

_Can I have more, please?_

"Go on, sweetie, it's okay. He was going to kill more people. It's okay if you want to eat him up." I smile, my voice bright and happy and full of upward inflections.

"Good boy!"

"Huh." I turn around abruptly to see Mort, standing on the window sill, apparently having watched the entire even unfold.

"Mort?" He's staring at Bolt, who is rather happily chomping away at what used to be a vampire master.

You know, you'd think the guy would have bodyguards or something, but I guess a hellhound isn't really something you prepare yourself for. Whatever.

"Mort? You still there, buddy?" I wave an arm in front of his face.

"I just…saw…a vampire…get eaten…by a hellhound." Um.

"And?"

He looks down at me, completely expressionless, before looking up, sort of in a daze. "My life is complete."  
I swear, even for a vampire, he's got the most twisted sense of humor this side of the Atlantic. Or, Pacific, I guess.

A/N: Sorry it's so short, and that I haven't been doing much updating lately…but…ah wells.


	27. Taffeta Must Die

Disclaimer: I won nothing. Own, I meant own. Well, I didn't win anything either, but still. Uhm.

* * *

"Okay, so what now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, one third of the evil masterminds is…are…dead."

"Is. One guy, Johnny."

"Shut up." I flick him in the shoulder, lean back into the car door.

"We find the other two thirds."

"How?"

He shrugs. "We have a lot of awkward phone calls to make."

"We do?" If his ingenious plan is to just call everyone in the phonebook and ask if they know anybody who's recently been turning random teenagers in shady alleyways, we might have a few problems.

"Yeah. I found his phone."

"Oh. And you just want us to call everyone in it."

"Yep."

I pause to think about it, and-

Goddamnit, I'm still wearing this DRESS. I hate dresses. With a vengeance. Whoever invented dresses shall now feel my wrath.

Anyways.

"Johnny? Problem?"

"Uh, yeah, I object to most of that."

"Why?"

"I'm not calling random strangers!"

"You didn't have a problem calling the vampires."

"That's because the vampires didn't try to hit on me and then _kill me_, Mordecai."

As we pull into the motel parking lot, Mort gives me a sideways glance. "Actually…"

"Oh, shut up. We both know I kicked Josef's ass."

"That's just a lie."

"What would you call the magically delicious incident?"

He winces. "That is not ass whooping. That is unfair trickery."

"Which worked." He snorts, getting out of the car and slamming the door shut. I don't know why he doesn't bother to just get a normal car, man. This thing is from the 80s and he's rigged into to run on vegetable oil, practically. It's so broken down that the door literally won't shut unless you slam it.

"Hey, the heroes return! Where's your dog?"

"He…had to go for a walk." I tell Mick carefully, verbally treading on eggshells.

"By himself?"

"…yeah."

He eyes the two of us very carefully. "O-kay." He says, bouncing his eyebrows disbelievingly before backing away.

A few seconds after he's disappeared round the corner, Mort says "Hey!"

"What?"

"He just said to Henry 'your friends are acting more suspicious than usual' and told him to keep an eye on us. I don't need an eye kept on me. I'm over twice his age."

"How over twice his age?"

"You know how old I am." He says as we head for the building.

"Not exactly."

He groans. "Well I could either say 'a thousand' or eleven-hundred-eighty-four, which doesn't really roll off the tip of the tongue now, does it?"

"Wait, you're a hundred eighty four years older than you said?"

"Look, once you reach one thousand you don't really keep count diligently."

"You did."

"Shut up, dimwad." He grumbles, giving me a fake punch in the arm.

XXX

"He ATE the vampire? Like, he's currently being digested?" Vicki's eyes nearly pop out of her head.

"Yep."

"Oh man, I so wish I could have _seen_ that. That sounds…sounds…"

"It was awesome. Especially since at the moment I had really, _really_ wanted to see that guy dead."

"Why?"

"Don't ask." I wrinkle my nose, as if the memory of the thought leaves a bad taste in my…nose…oh well. Never mind.

"So that's where he is now?"

"Yeah. I wouldn't be surprised if he came back with a bone in his mouth to gnaw on."

She blurts. That's the only way to describe the laugh that comes out of her mouth. A blurt.

With a gaping yawn, I grab one of the pillows on the bed and hug it to my chest, resting my forehead on the hideous purple taffeta.

Who makes pillow cases out of TAFFETA? Motel idiots do, that's who. This place is a regular motel hell.

"Is that the first time he's killed a vampire?"

I think about her question, running over all of the situations he's been in.

"First time he's eaten one." In front of me, anyways, I add silently.

"Here's hoping it doesn't give him indigestion."

"Please." I snort. "He's eaten my toaster in the past. The dog could eat concrete and come out no worse for wear." Again, my jaw is cracked open with a mouth-splitting yawn, the second in as many minutes.

"You look as tired as I feel. Maybe you oughta sleep."

With a sleepy blink, I close my eyes and open one lid a fraction of a centimeter. "That's true, I probably should. I doubt I will though."

"Why not?"

"Nightmares." And not about hellhounds eating vampires, either. That would be a good dream.

"Tell you what. I'll…er…I'll be on the next bed over and if you start screaming I'll wake you up." I frown, watching her. She looks sincere enough, her glasses – mended with scotch tape in some places – sit crookedly on her nose, portraying the off-color bags under her eyes where the capillaries have drained of blood, belying the not-tired front she's projecting.

"Really?" She smiles, rises, walks over to the light switch.

CLICK. Darkness.

"Yep." That's the last syllable I hear before falling into a fitful and interrupted slumber.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so basically, next time is a nightmare unless anybody has any objections. Cool? Too bad anyways. Now for the apologizing profusely:

SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY. Gah! I have used and abused this poor story for the last month. Heck, I didn't even _reply_ to the reviews of the last chapter. I always reply. Crysob. I'm a horrible person. I got distracted by this other story that I'm writing/was writing, and then when I tried to come back to this one I got stuck-ded-ded. I think I got it back though. So forgive me if the updates now are going to be a little shorter while I travel to the Netherlands and beyond to get my momentum back. And if the short updates, well, suck like a little kid with a lollipop. OKAY. Now I'm going to go find those reviews and see if I can still reply. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. THUNK.

-goes back to the random corner-

I have serious issues, man.

Wait, one last thing: DID YOU SEE THAT ONE LAST NIGHT? Sorry. But good Lord above, it was awesome. They kissed. -squee!- I mean then he did his stupid idiot jumping and conbrooding thing, but whatever. Heheh.

"Did they find her in the tarpits?"

"...no."

"Nope, sorry, that was the only person I killed this week." Hee.

And:

"What the hell is going on?"

"We're saving your _ass_." -rolls eyes-

I think I'm going to go re-watch it now.


	28. Constants

I pull the blanket up, higher around my shoulders, reveling in the warmth and comfort and safety. Maybe I won't have a nightmare tonight. I just need to sleep…better.

"Shh, close your eyes."

I do, my eyes moistening from the lids and the familiar fatigued stinging fading to the background, and I wiggle around a little to get more comfortable.

His hand massages my arm in a simple up-and-down motion, lulling me into sleep.

I try to think about something soothing. What in my life in soothing? Constants, constants are soothing, the little algae-covered stones that stay still despite crashing waves.

But are there any constants in my life?

"Relax, Jo, deep breaths." I inhale and exhale thoughtfully.

Mort is a constant. Bolt is a constant. My scars are a constant and my job is a constant.

I can't think of anything else. That's it. My constants are a vampire, a hellhound, and vampire-related things. That is really, fantastically, horribly depressing.

"There you go. All sleepy now, huh?" I shiver when he leans down, whispers in my ear, stone cold lips grazing the lobe.

"Uh huh." I mutter in reply, lacing my fingers with the ones on the arm I feel rest on my waist.

"Good," he says after a pause.

Then I feel him, his face, he sniffs all along my head and my hair, down to my neck, pausing to savor it, I guess.

Just before I hear a growl, and teeth as cold and pointed as icicles enter my shoulder.

XXX

Sometimes, during the day, Bolt will come and visit me. He knows the way here well enough to go on his own, so when Mort's doing something that doesn't involve him he'll just show up at my door. So I'm not very surprised when I open the door to see a dog that looks like an impossibly large and black Great Dane (but less floppy).

"Hey, Bolt." He trots in and I close the door behind him. I was about to watch Princess Bride anyways, so it'll be nice to have a warm pillow that can tear the throat out of any supernatural beast that decides I'd make a nice meal. Knowing his place well, he flops down in front of my couch. I flop myself down in front of him, curling up and resting my back on his stomach. He lets a long breath out, which puts me in mind of an equine creature.

"You really are more like a bear-horse, aren't you?" He snorts, and my head rises and falls with his intake of breath. The sound from the movie helps keep the silence of the house comfortable, and I remember why I crave the company of animals over people. No such thing as awkward silence. Absentmindedly, I twirl a few shed furs in between my fingers. A scene comes on that I've never found much interest in ("Can you move at all?" "Move? You're alive! If you want I can fly!"), so I take the opportunity to fetch a pear from my kitchen/dining room/office. When I return I seat myself on the couch, resting my feet on Bolt (he doesn't mind).

Comfortably, the two of us watch the movie and I'm getting more and more drowsy.

"Miss me, dear?"

I freeze. There, that voice, I know that voice. Luckily, I think better in crises.

"Goodness, those morticians did a bang-up job. You look so lifelike." I resist the urge to look at him.

"Well, you know me, I always did try to look my best for you." I can feel his words, his mouth right by my ear, and I know, I just know, that he's holding his hands behind his back like the bastard he is.

"What do you want, Nikolai." I manage to keep the shiver vibrating my body from tainting my voice, but I'm trembling.

"Oh, I see. That's lovely, sweet, pretend you don't know." I find myself trying to breathe normally, and realize that Bolt isn't doing anything. I wiggle one foot to see if I can feel him. Nothing.

"Oh God, please don't." I say, angry with myself for sounding so useless and feeble, frozen with fear when he grabs my neck and sinks teeth in. Practiced habit takes over, and I pass out.

XXX

"What's she doing? Doesn't look healthy. What the hell did you do that for?"

"Can you blame me? Look at her. Even now."

"You know what we have to do."

"I do?" I hiss, my eyes flying open. I note absently that my arms are tied behind my back, on a chair, with a coarse rope that burns with every movement, my back has cricks and aches where it feels like most people don't even have places. The warehouse's windows are closed again and the bare light bulb in the middle is swinging again like a little kid on a swing and they're in the corner again and again they're talking in hushed tones that aren't so hushed and they're both wearing their greatcoats again.

I'm hungry.

"Of course! Besides, what's one more?"

"But she's – that's different."

"Oh? Don't tell me Mr. Nik has a soul all of a sudden?"

"Not funny."

The other one growls and hisses, and hits him. Both of them illuminated at angles, weak fluorescent light and rain-soaked night striking their backs.

"Come on, man, let's do this one for the people."

A pause, and I watch the other, darker figure grab Nik's arm, dragging him towards me with a muted roar of protest.

"Hello there, Joanna! Fancy seeing you here!"

"Okay." There's a twist, like a bend in the background, something not-quite-right, like all of a sudden the electric bulbs in your chandelier have been replaced with real candles.

With a snarl, and a hack, my arms are freed. His face, next to Nik his face, it is black even in the light such that I can't see any features of his, like I'll only see them when he chooses to reveal them.

"Come on, poppett! Let's get you to the turning room, let's get you! Huh? How'd you like to be a vampire? Promise, you'll love it! Huh? Won't you just love it. You'll love it." The bend in the background flickers, my surroundings shifting imperceptibly again.

"Okay." I say again, feeling strangely strangled inside. His voice makes me feel all small and hard and little inside like I'm five years old again.

"But I don't want to be a vampire."

He laughs. He laughs like something really funny just happened, even though I don't see anything remotely humorous about this situation. His laugh makes me feel even smaller and harder and littler inside.

"Oh, that's all right! Don't you want to be prettier, Joanna? Don't you want to be as pretty as me or Nik?"

I decide to play along because, don't ask me how, everything around us just got a personality tinged with orange. "I don't know how pretty you are."

He pats me on the back, and I think that I can feel the sharp points of nails, almost like talons, dig into the skin of my back.

He steps out into the light, and I'm reminded of the movie Beauty and the Beast, even though I'm no beauty. Light spills onto all the pointed angles of his face, illuminating boyish features and surprisingly kind, brown eyes, skin as pale and translucent as rice paper in the synthetic sun. He's pretty in the way that a sea nettle is pretty. So beautiful it scares you how much you want to get closer. I wonder, to myself, who this is.

"Pleasure to meet you! I've been hearing _so_ much from my little friend here."

"Oh."

He fakes injured pride. "Don't you recognize me? I think I look rather a lot like my little child."

Child meaning someone he turned.

"Oh."

Oh, Ben. Oh sweetie.

"So I'm going to be a vispus now?"

He smiles, sliding an hand around my neck and tilting my head back for easier access. So, okay.

"You are. Lucky you!"

XXX

"GET OFF OF ME! GET OFF!" I screech, flailing at the weight on my body, clawing at the skin I feel beneath my fingernails.

"GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!" My voice feels like forks and knives are cutting up my lungs. The weight leaps off, landing with a thud on the floor and scrambling away on hands and feet.

"Johnny. Johnny, it's just me! You…your nightmare was really quiet. You didn't scream or anything."

Breathing heavily, I feel sweat drip down my forehead, and despite a rapidly increasing body temperature I draw the blankets up around me. Maybe if I put enough textiles on the fear it'll get squished out the side and people will stop looking at me.

I raise my eyes, a lock of dirty blond hair blocking the vision of my left eye, and with the other I look at Vicki's dark shape, crouched in a corner.

Evidently she 'invited' Beth over too, as I see another female figure seated in the chair.

I saw his face. I don't know how I know but that was his face and that's what he looks like.

"Get him away from me," I whisper, grabbing my ankles and rocking back and forth on the bed. To hell with looking sane.

"Get him away."


	29. Swapping Stories About The Indian Mafia

Wearing a towel and silently praying to whatever god invented locks, I pace around my room (blinds drawn), singing to myself.

"Well, I'm the same kid I was  
Out in the schoolyard  
Hallowed my pockets with sticks  
From the parking lot."

No, I don't feel weird doing it. And even if I look stupid it doesn't mean I'm going to stop. See I have this theory that if my mouth is moving, my brain will stop working for a little while. Works remarkably well, actually, thank you for asking.

"Though I walked alone

I was sure there was somebody.

There on my shoulders,

Quietly guiding me."

I hum the rest of the melody while simultaneously hunting for my pickle t shirt. I know I brought it! I don't go anywhere without the pickle t shirt! SWEAR!

Goddamnit, I didn't bring it, did I?

With a groan and what feels like the beginning of dry heaves, I flop down own the bed and make a few choked-sob noises.

This is not the straw that broke the camel's back, it is the _electron _in the _atom _in the _molecule_ in the straw that broke the camel's back. Good Lord.

"I wanna go back to _bed_," I whine with as much fervor as possible, repeatedly smacking my head with my palm.

…

Okay, I really was expecting one of the vampires to show up just now and (if it was Josef) make some remark connecting 'bed' to 'sex', or (if it was, well, anyone else) sincerely asking if I'm okay and if I really do feel unwell and should go back to bed.

Huh. I hath been trained well.

XXX(has anyone noticed that my scene dividers are also a symbol for highly potent alcoholic drinks?)

"Hey guys," I try out a little smile to see how everyone has faired after Scary Johnny Breakdown Funtime Explosion.

"Oh! Hi…" Beth grins a very-fake-Beth-grin in my general direction, exuding exceedingly creepy cheer.

I can't help it, though I know she's trying to be helpful. I make an eyes-slightly-widened-pursed-lips-wow-that's-a-bit-off-kilter face, give her a little smile back, and look in the other room to see Josef, Mick and Henry all trying very hard not to stain the white furniture while drinking breakfast.

"Where's Vicki?" I ask, turning back to Beth.

"Said she still had work to do, so she's out taking calls from a client."

"What about Mort?"

Beth shrugs. _He's your vampire, shouldn't you know?_

If she'd said that out loud instead of communicating it tacitly, I would have remarked with a "HEY!"…but I don't.

"Thereyouareyouokayyouhadmerealworriedyoulooktootiredmaybeyoushouldgobacktobedyouneedsleep!!" Before he even finishes his word necklace, I'm crushed to a hard chest, his arms coming around to presumably constrict me to death, my head tucked under his, and all I can smell is soap and old paper.

"Oh, sweetie," he says, finally calming down though not releasing his death grip.

"Don't" – gasp – "baby" – big breath – "me!" INHALE!

"What?"

"You're making it very hard to breath." I tell him, my face still smushed into his chest.

"Oh," he replies, only loosening his grip slightly.

"Look, it was a bad dream, not an assassination attempt. I'm not a five year old."

After a muscle-tensed few seconds, he releases me and backs up a few feet. Yeah, remember? Personal bubble rule. Extends to people I met in previous existences.

"Uh, sorry. It's just, you know, they told me what it was about," he motions to Beth and the not-present Vicki (?).

"It's not like it's the first one. Relax, man."

"But-"

"Shut up, Mort." I smile, coming forward to give him a pat on the head, much to his annoyance.

"But I think I saw his face. Just in case I'm gonna try and draw it today. So no vampire protective possessive stuff."

He fake-pouts. "Am not."

"Not what?"

"Possessive!"

"Come on. Any guy sees me walking down a street next to you is going to be intimidated or scared shitless."

"By the Indian Mafia?"

He smirks, unwavering when I thwack him in the arm.

XXX

I'm a terrible artist, and this is proving much more difficult than I thought. First, whenever I've drawn faces in the past I was copying a picture, but now I only have a weird shadowed dream thing that I saw for thirty seconds at best.

He had a very sharp nose, and about a centimeter up in had a little bend that hooked it downward, and a broad chin. Then, perfectly shaped eyebrows and wide-set eyes complete the look-at-me-I'm-dangerous-but-well-muscled male model aura.

I try to draw it and it ends up looking like a lopsided blobby thing.

I erase little bits of the head, making it sharper here and softer there and more defined here and less shadowed there and longer here and shorter there. In a few hours, it is starting to look just a wee bit like what I remember.

There's a knock on my door, and Vicki enters without waiting for an answer.

"Come in, why don't you," I say bitterly from my bed.

"Sorry. Just wanted to, uh," she coughs.

"Talk…to you…Johnny…?"

"Yeah."

"What about?"

She winces. "What happened to you, exactly? Or was it just a normal bad dream?"

"You ever had a nightmare that wasn't related to the supernatural somehow?"

"No. At least, not lately."

"Exactly."

She approaches the foot of the bed, twisting her glasses in her hands and giving me a hard look.

"Listen. I've been through a lot of shit, too. So, if you want to…talk, or something…"

"I started dating a newly turned vampire and had to teach him how to hunt without killing by letting him suck my blood."

"I was almost the gateway to hell on earth."

"I'm the reincarnated soul of a four hundred year old girl who killed herself so Mort could live."

"You seen Groundhog Day? That happened to me, only a lot worse and I saw Pandora's box opened multiple times."

"My psycho vampire ex tried to kill me."

"Hey, I was there for that."

"I was there when you got kidnapped by the crazy multiple personality guy!"

"So?"

"Just saying." She snorts.

"That the guy?"

"I think so. Sort of." I chuckle without conviction and hand the notebook over to her. "Recognize him?"

She laughs, looking at the picture. "I wish. Hey, you're pretty good, you know that? You must have got a good view in the dream."

"Not really. Saw him for a few seconds. Heck, I'm just relying on what little clairvoyance my cry-fests have provided in the past that this is even the guy."

She whistles. "Nice. You're like on par with the department's sketch artist."

"Liar."

Vicki shrugs, sitting on the bed and the bed depressing with her weight. "It's good, though. Really."

She hands it back to me, and I scan my eyes over it again. I could fudge a little on the nose, and maybe fix the chin, but basically this is as good as it'll get.

"Maybe Ben will recognize him." I look up at her, surprised, frankly, that I hadn't thought of it myself.

"Yeah. Maybe…"

A/N: So…? Yeah, I know it's pointless, but…I felt like it. Bah. –waves hand in a dismissive motion- I never got into this for the sake of…(well, anything). Uhm…Sorry.


	30. Pizza: Better Than Sanity

Ever the perfectionist, I'm trying to make a few last touches as I wolf down my dinner. I can't get the mouth right. I try crooking the corner up in a half-smile, which makes him just look creepier, and I try making it more defined and supple, and shading it in more.

…Okay, now he just looks like he's wearing lipstick. Come on, man. Vampires don't wear lipstick. Not male ones, anyway (or maybe they do. I don't judge, man.) Flipping the pencil around, I dab at his lips with the eraser in an attempt at undoing the horrid travesty of shading.

All the while trying to balance all of the stuff on my pizza.

"I may have never had it, but that is disgusting."

"It said vegetarian!"

"It doesn't even have _cheese_, Johnny." Mort says, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

"Does too. There are random blobs of romano."

"Not normal cheese though. It's got spinach and artichoke and olives and…peppers?"

"Yep."

"That is _not_ normal pizza."

"Like you'd know. You've only ever eaten…"

He quirks an eyebrow, an amused smile lighting on his face.

"Eaten…?" He's waiting me to say something from the Indian restaurant menu I have at my house.

"Indian…food."

"Nice."

"Shut up! Let me eat in peace, fiend!"

"Ha. You gonna show the drawing to Ben?"

"Uh huh."

He frowns, staring at it. "You should've had Henry draw. He's a professional."

"Yes, but I'm a stubborn ass."

"True."

With a groan, I set the drawing down, knocking my head against the head board. What did people from India eat then? Rice, probably. A lot of rice. Not beef. Definitely not beef.

"Well, at least it looks like a person. Unlike that atrocity hanging in your living room…"

"Hey! That's a photo from some stuck-up guy with a liberal arts degree!"

"Exactly. And it doesn't look like a face."

"It does. Sort of."

"No, really it doesn't."

"I ought to set Bolt on you."

"Yeah, good luck with that."

"I'll stab you with a pencil."

"Have we not established just how poorly staking me works?"

I freeze. Something is threatening to click, the gears are creaking, trying to fit.

"Joh-"

"Shh. Don't move." I stare at him intently, like maybe lines will just show up on his face, words that tell me what my stomach just discovered so that my brain can benefit from this information as well.

That building…the silence that listened…

They tried to kill him, or at least to put a big hole in him. Pollox should have known how to kill him. The other guy, from my dreams, should have known how to kill him if he is himself the same species.

Which means…which means they weren't the intended victims. They were bait. Bait for whom? Bait for me. Why me? Because he knew Nik. Why Ben, then?

"Johnny?"

I should be writing these down. On a big clear board with markers. And diagrams. Diagrams would help. Ooh! VENN diagrams. Slow down there, Johnny, don't hurt yourself.

"Wow, are you out of it right now."

"It wasn't Pollox."

"Johnny, believe me, I know when-"

"No, no, I mean who kidnapped you. I'm not saying he didn't have anything to do with it. But…"

"But…?"

"Well-" I wave my hands in the air. "You know!"

He grins. "No, please, Joanna, clarify!"

"I mean, they weren't trying to kill you, so…"

He sits on the edge of the bed, and I scoot over, making room for him.

And all this time, I'd assumed it was Mort they wanted.

He slides his arms around my shoulders, pulling me closer, placing a kiss on top of my head.

"I know, Johnny. What happened was exactly what they wanted to happen."

He finished my thoughts exactly.

XXX

You know, it's kind of creepy? Nik's managing to be a leech even after he's dead. Thanks, buddy. So…

Nik dies. His buddy is pissed. His buddy remembers 'oh, hey, yeah, that girl that he was obsessed with. It's her fault he died. VENDETTA! WAHAHA and other evil sounds!'

Buddy (who's a vispus), and who apparently wears wigs because normally he's a baldy bean, decides to get a couple of other prominent vampires of different species together. So, Coraline's sire and Pollox. Fantastic. Beautiful. Just lovely.

When did my life turn into a really bad soap opera, you ask?

Why, college, I reply.

Nik's buddy lies to the other two, oh boy, let's go turn some random people and make a freakin' ARMY and wear EYE PATCHES and CACKLE MANIACALLY every chance we get. Because we're GOOD villains!

Meanwhile he uses everybody else's resources to capture Mort and get a glance at me.

And I thought we were _so clever_ to think about using these guys as bait.


	31. Thank You Mister Cryptic

Happy Disturbing Realization Day, everybody. Today we bring you: I know where I remember that face from! Yep, I met that fellow. Eight years ago, yes, but I don't know if you've noticed this lovely habit that vampires seem to have of being disturbingly gorgeous and brain-searing, and, well, a good portion of my brain was seared that night.

The short of it is that Nik was with a bunch of friends. So I only got a glimpse of this guy's face for a moment, but hell, it was enough.

Okay, so I'm not psychic, but hey, I got a pretty nice memory, huh?

XXX

"Ben, sweetie?"

"You can turn the lights on."

"Okay."

"Also, stop treating me like a mentally ill five-year-old."

"That I can also do with pleasure."

Flipping on the light switch, my nose is greeted by the smell of caked blood and fabric softener. Actually, greeted is putting a positive spin on it. The stench has come right up to my olfactory glands, performed a secret handshake, 'pounded it', and then promptly socked them.

No, really, for just a minute try to imagine blood and fabric softener.

Neither is a very good smell singly. Together?

Guess.

"What…what…uh…"

"The fabric softener, right?"

"How…"

He shrugs. "I thought it might cover up the blood smell. I was wrong. I'm thinking maybe this is why vampires don't breath."

Well, actually-

"I mean, with our noses, anyway."

There we are.

My heart takes out some guilt and lodges it into my throat at the sight of the boy. It's my fault he's…you know, a vampire.

Happythoughtshappythoughtshappythoughts.

…I got nothing. Oh, hell.

"I just wanna ask you real quick if you recognize this guy." It's the chance of a snowflake in hell, but hey, I already drew the drawing and all.

Getting it over with quick!

Then, ready? Then Mort's just gonna do some vampire thing and find him. Okay. Well, not tonight he's not, because we're just going to play Scrabble and watch a movie, which I think is his way of saying 'sorry for making out with you repeatedly and not feeling bad about it'.

So, maybe I'm a little bit scared to be spending time with him alone, but it's an anticipation kind of scared, too.

Ben frowns. "Yeah, 's my buddy Ray, what's he got to do with anything?" he replies, tossing the clipboard back to me. It indents on the bed, one of the corners folding inwards.

"Your friend? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, why, is this some memory-testing thing?" He holds up a hand. "Before you ask, my parents were Martha and Benjamin Senior, and I was an only child." He grins.

I grin back. "Yep. That's all. Just making sure, Ben. See you in a little."

XXX

"Well did you ask him _where_ his friend lives? Anything, any follow-up questions?"

"I…I was just…flustered, that's all."

"Oh, Johnny!"

Mort sighs, running a hand through his hair in that way that he does.

"We'll just…deal with it tomorrow and stuff. Not tonight. Time is money and money is the root of all evil so the less time we use…and all that. Procrastination is better."

He watches me for a second, and I guess I've just figured out what my favorite color of eye is. So dark brown that it's almost black.

I shift on the floor, covered in pillows, sitting up on one of them to stare at him right back.

I scoot closer to him, leaning up against the glass coffee table.

He tenses for a second, and we just watch each other, and he watches me watch him and I watch him relax. And all that. Tra la la.

"Aren't you scared, though? This guy pretending to be sixteen, seventeen, eighteen years old is older than I am."

I just laugh.

"I found a little pot, took it in the kitchen," I croon.

"Really? Amber Rubarth is your solution to this problem?"

"And filled it with some dirt, planted a chrysanthemum,"

"Chrysanthemum Song, too."

"And you should seen how it turned my mood to yellow, turned my mood to yellow in a day."

"And I should be ashamed for even knowing what your guitar happy-tunes hippie music is."

I snort, falling over and flopping my head on his knee with absolutely no grace whatsoever because I'm pretty certain I don't possess any, and start to snore obnoxiously.

"Aw, get offa me," he laughs, wiggling his leg.

"What the heck did you do to the furniture in here, man?" I ask, gesturing to the couch and chairs pushed up against the walls, the pillows and cushions removed from them to somehow further pad the floor.

"I like it like this. It's…less cluttered. Fewer planes of dimension."

"Well, I think it's strange," I offer, sitting up on my elbows.

"Maybe I think you're strange," he replies, spinning on his hip so that he's hunched forward, leaning towards me.

"Really? That's all you have for a comeback?"

"It's perfectly valid."

"It's terrible. Especially for a man of your age."

"Fine, then," he replies, leaning forward and smiling as he senses my heartbeat increase.

"How's this?"

He tilts his head to the side, leaning in, his lips parting slightly, hovering just over mine. He stays there, floating just above me; like he's a magnet I feel the urge to close the centimeters between us. I wait for him to lean in, just a bit further.

Please.

I knew this was going to happen. I'd be the worst sort of liar if I said I hadn't been partially looking forward to it.

But he doesn't move; just stays right there, drifting above me, his lips so achingly close to touching mine that I can feel the small amount of heat radiated from them.

"Well?"

My eyes half-closed, my breathing ragged, I barely manage to eek out the word.

I feel him smile, _feel_ him smile, that's how close he is to almost kissing me, the soft tickle of his breath when he laughs.

"Well…now you know how it feels," he whispers. He stays there for what feels like an eternity, clever fingertips tracing the line of my jaw, my collarbones, my hips, all the while somehow never touching me.

And then, just like that, he's up and walking out the door.

"Know how what feels?" I call after the open entrance at his fading back, sitting up on one elbow.

"Mort? Know how what feels?"

A/N: Sometimes I think, 'maybe popular music is popular for a good reason!'. And then I think 'wait, but Evanescence is popular too,' and that theory just goes flying out the window.

If I ever had a pet rock, I'm pretty confident in the knowledge that I would name him Carson. Et toi?


End file.
